The Leveller
by Kelsocspanatarailka
Summary: Sum: "When the world goes to shit, you put your money in the bank." Braxton deadpans. "Language." I mutter. Or In Which, Braxton Greene becomes an Avenger. Starts at the same time as A:AoU and goes to Civil War, perhaps beyond. (WandaxOC)
1. First Meeting

Hi. I'm Braxton. I live in New York. Ah, New York! Home of Coney Island, the Statue of Liberty and the Metropolitan Museum of Art! The place where you can stroll down the Boardwalk, sample various ethnic foods, and (even now, three years after the battle) pick discarded Chitauri parts out of abandoned buildings.

Yeah, that's right. I live in New York, New York. Post-Battle of New York. It's not too bad really. I was there for the battle. The Avengers will never know it, but I dispatched a couple of stray Chitauri warriors. I don't know why I did it, even now, but I think it was because of how much I just love this city. New York's evolved so much; it's crazy, but the city's kept its distinct flair. It still feels the same to walk down my old streets.

I'm on a stealth walk down an alley at the moment. Today's a bad day. I don't feel like fighting off thugs so I'm taking the long way home. My home is literally on my back and I could probably just set up camp wherever, but I've gotten pretty attached to my usual spot. That's why I'm creeping around the backside of town like a class-A weasel. But turns out, my effort is for nothing, because I'm standing face to face with Grunge. Not like hippy-dirty-hair-week-old-jeans grunge, but a tall, skinny, rat-faced man named Grunge.

"Shit." I breathe. I got caught by the worst possible person today.

"Shit's right, Prep." Grunge growls at me in his distinctly New York accent; behind him, his five rent-a-homies shift their weight and glare at me.

A few actually pop their knuckles in preparation for the impending beat down. Out here they call me Prep, short for preppy, because I am rumored to have an immense superiority complex. On a good day, I'd be all over these wanna-be toughs, show them that my superiority isn't just a complex, but today I just can't make myself care about getting them into line.

Grunge is the unofficial official boss of the underworld I live in, but as I take a step forward today, his eyes widen and he stiffens slightly. Even as he's preparing to kick my ass, he's still scared. They all are. I'm a wild card. I don't have a place in the hierarchy, but only the freshmen try to mess with me (usually on a dare or something, stupid kids); and occasionally Grunge, hoping either to convince me to quit foiling his schemes, or whip me into submission. (Neither of which work, mind you.)

Today is no different. But when I make no move to start cracking bones, Grunge straightens up and comes at me with a sadistic smile on his face. He shoves me over to his goon squad and tosses me into their greedy fingers. I thrash around less in an effort to free myself, which I could do easily, but more to remind Grunge that he needs all five of his boys to keep me steady. This has only happened one other time, getting caught on a bad day, that is. Not to say I don't have a lot of bad days, it's just that usually I'm a better creeper. Today's a **_really_** bad day.

Grunge's cracked lips are drawn back in a constipated sneer, showing the crooked yellow teeth beneath. He draws back a fist and jams it into my stomach. I double over in the hands of my captors, 'cuz it hurts pretty badly. Grunge isn't a bad fighter; he just needs help to overcome an assailant. He comes back again with a right hook that fills my mouth with blood from my cut cheek.

I spit a wad of bloody phlegm at his feet. He retaliates with a sharp uppercut that snaps my head backwards. I laugh, blowing the drooping bangs out of my face.

"Yeah, I guess I deserved that one." I grunt. Grunge growls, and then kicks my chest; and all the air in my lungs rushes out in a breathy huff. It takes me a second of panic to resume breathing, at which point Grunge promptly gives me a black eye. His next punch breaks my nose. I hear the bone crunch before I even feel it. He's enjoying this; I can see it in his eyes. He's drunk on euphoria at catching unawares and creaming the Leveller himself.

He flicks open a switchblade that he's produced out of nowhere and grins. He twitches and my black t-shirt is cut open and yanked off, revealing the grey, skintight, sleeveless, workout tank beneath. He grins wider and grabs my throat, bringing the knife back to stab me. My vision's started to blacken around the edges, and I feel myself passing out, when suddenly Grunge is yanked away. The air returns to my lungs in a rush, and I look up to see Grunge in a chokehold against a broad, leather-armor clad chest, gasping for air and looking even smaller than usual.

Grunge looks more surprised than anything, and he barely flails as he starts losing air. At the last moment, however, Grunge looks straight at me and his face twists with malice.

"Kill him." He gasps, fainting.

Grunge's thugs don't waste time; they whirl on me, pinning me to the brick wall and grabbing Grunge's knife from where he fell. His attacker, a tall caped blonde person with more muscle mass than should be humanly (not to mention legally) possible, frowns and flicks his eyes up and to his left, dropping Grunge in a boneless heap. Something whistles through the air and the lead thug drops. He has a straight twig-like appendage sticking out of his side. It's an arrow, but he isn't dead, just unconscious.

The other four thugs don't even blink. They pull out silenced guns and start shooting wildly, not even bothering to aim. A large blue and red blur flies into one goon's face, ricocheting into the chest of the next. They drop like rocks, and the last two men drop their guns and run. A slim, lithe, black-clothed figure drops onto one. He's out before he hits the ground. The other is dropped by a small projectile from a suit of red armor.

A trim, bespectacled, average-looking man in a light purple shirt comes over to me, helping me off the ground. Bruce Banner.

"Hot dang." I smirk, and my eyebrows raise, an impressive feat considering one is split and hurts like hell when I move it. "You're the Avengers." I'd heard that they'd dispersed after the Battle of New York, but obviously after the whole Hydra file dump thing, they'd come back together.

"Damn straight." The iron suit says. Its face plate raises and I see the face of Tony Stark. I turn away, swallowing my rising anger, and focus on the tall, red white and blue clad figure in front of me.

"Are you okay?" He asks. It's Steve Rogers; Captain America. I nod tightly.

"I'm good." I swallow, rubbing my chest where Grunge kicked me. My throat still hurts a little, but it's already getting better.

"So what was that?" The black clad figure from before asks. Upon further inspection, I see that the figure is a woman. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff. She smirks. "Drug deal gone wrong?"

"No." I grind out. Hold it in. Don't explode on these people; they just saved your life. "No." I repeat. "They're jealous because I make honest money and they don't."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it Nat?" A disembodied voice says with a chuckle. A man dropped out of nowhere, wearing purple and black and holding a bow. Hawkeye, Clint Barton.

"No, not really." Romanoff shakes her head dryly, pretending to contemplate the question.

"Just glad nobody got hurt." Banner says in his gravelly voice, glancing at Romanoff.

"Aye. These men will wake soon, as good as new." The taller blond, Thor, said.

"That's why I better make myself scarce." I say dryly.

"What, you couldn't fight them off?" Stark quips. I can hear the mocking in his voice.

"I could've." I say evenly.

"So why didn't you?" Rogers steps forward. There's no condemnation in his tone, only curiosity.

"Today's a bad day." I mumble.

"What?" Romanoff frowns.

"Today's a bad day." I say louder.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hawkeye says critically.

"Nothing to you." I shrug. "But I don't, I can't, fight on bad days. Usually I just sneak home, try not to run into anyone. Usually I'm better at it. But today must be worse than usual."

"Ah." Steve nods.

"So, thank you for saving my life, but I've gotta go." I smile and bow. I can't just walk away, because the fricking Avengers are in a semi-circle around me. Looks like I've gotta do this the hard way. I take a deep breath and jump. I focus hard and I go invisible mid-leap, landing on the fire escape above, holding on by my fingers, with one foot braced against the railing. I hear Thor actually growl, and Stark curse under his breath. I come back visible and hoist myself over the railing.

"What the hell?" Romanoff says, frowning up at me.

"Sorry." I say sheepishly. I get a running start and leap from one fire escape to the next one ten feet away, attached to the building opposite. I just keep jumping like that until I can no longer see the heroes nor hear their exclamations of surprise. And that's how I met the Avengers.

 **Hey guys, it's Kelsoc. I was a bit hesitant to post another story so soon, but I like this one, and I think you will too. Constructive criticism is appreciated. if you have flames that you need to let out, you can roast me. I can take it. (But it's better if you tell me how much you hate this story in the kindest way you can.)**


	2. No shit, Hydra

Here's the second chapter of the Leveller

Hi, me again. So, a week after the Avengers saved my ass, the world was squawking about some robot named Ultron hell-bent on destroying the world, which was coincidentally created by Tony Stark. That's when I decide to get a savings account.

That's right. When the world goes to shit, you put your money in the bank. But first I have to find one. Unfortunately, due to intense procrastination, it is a whole month before I call for a bank appointment. The day of, I don light grey slacks and a forest green long sleeve button down. I drive a silver Camaro up there and park outside. (Yep, a Camaro.) I sit in the impressively appointed lobby and wait for my appointment.

When it's my turn, a pretty savings consultant comes out and escorts me to her office. We are in the middle of discussing my account options, when I hear the first noise. I don't think anything of it, until a masked man holding an assault rifle kicks the door open and shoves us towards the lobby.

Everyone in the bank sits on the floor. A short, trim, bald man stands over us. He is the only intruder not carrying a gun.

"Ah, good." He smiles. "We're all here." He looks around the room and his grin widens. "A likely batch you've collected this time." He says to his backup. He turns to face us again. "Welcome to the greatest opportunity of your lives. You have the chance to be a part of something greater than yourselves; to stand with like-minded others on the cusp of a new age!" I look around. The facial expressions on the people around me range from confusion, to interest, to outrage, to flat-out fear. Only one person I see doesn't display any of the above.

It is a young woman, about the same age as I look. She sits in the back, her expression deadpan and even the tiniest bit bored. It's less, I've-sat-through-a-bank-robbery-before boredom and more, Oh-my-god-will-you-shut-up-I've-got-better-stuff-to-do boredom. Either way, it's certainly impressive. She's beautiful too, her long brown hair hanging in waves around her face. She's shorter than I am, (everyone is) and slim. I've gotta say, she pulls off the 'I don't give a shit' expression well. Somehow, she looks familiar, but for once I can't visualize where I know her from.

Meanwhile, Short Bald man has been blathering about his new world order. He is finally finishing by the time I tune back in.

"You would, of course have to work your way to the top. The pay wouldn't be the best at first, but soon enough you'll be making millions. In the meantime, you'd have to prove yourself, and of course your families will remain safe." The man drones. "All in all, Hydra is a very illustrious organization, dedicated to the return of Aryan might." I raise my hand.

"Furtherm- Y-yes?" He stutters.

"I thought Hydra was dead." I quip.

"Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place." The man smiles cruelly.

"What happens if we don't wanna go with you?" I say, crossing my ankles and leaning back on my elbows.

"It would be in everyone's best interest, if you value your life, that is, to join us." If the deliverer was more imposing, the threat might have unnerved me. Unfortunately for Hydra, neither is the case.

"So lemme get this straight." I sit forward. "You want us to come with you, do all your grunt work, fight your battles for you and most certainly get killed at some point, and in return get paid chump change and put our families at risk of being hunted down by SHIELD?"

"W-Well, I don't think that's quite right." The man's mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.

"Aww, hell no." I curl my lip at him. A wave of murmurs crosses the room. Others are seeing my logic. The man's jaw clenches.

"Kill him." He addresses the nearest hired gun, none too subtlely. (Why does everyone keep _saying_ that?) "Make him an example to the others. Hail Hydra." The merc grabs one of his buddies and they head over to me. I don't even bother moving, I just paste a stupid grin on my face.

"Hiya, fellas." I wave. They yank me up and force me to my knees in front of everyone. In the back of the room, the brown-haired woman stands up. It looks like she's about to come over here. But before she can, the first merc fires his gun at my head. The report is deafening, and white light explodes in my brain.


	3. All Fall Down

"Owwww!" I frown, holding my head. "What're you trying to split my skull?"

"What the…" The first merc's fingers still and the gun slips from his hands. Everyone is frozen. Until the man growls.

"I said, KILL HIM!" He roars. Gun-dropper jumps six feet in the air and snatches his rifle back up. This time he presses it against my skull and fires. Again, I'm still alive.

"GEEZ! I'm bulletproof, you **numbskull**!" I snap. He drops his gun again, this time covering his face with his hands and muttering something to himself that sounds like 'God help me.' in German.

"That's it." The man hisses. "Kill them! Kill them ALL!" His remaining men open fire and I let loose. Green flames erupt and spread over my body, consuming my shirt and pants, leaving only my chains and the self-made-fireproof shorts I threw on this morning under my slacks.

"Not today!" I draw a quarterstaff in the air and it materializes in my hands. I jump and knock the nearest gun-holder upside his head. For a moment I pause, concerned about the civilians still being shot at. But none of the bullets reach their targets. A large, translucent, red shield floats around them. Who's making it? The only person behind the shield who hasn't hit the deck has her arms in a defensive position, red mist flowing from her hands. It's–

A stream of bullets bruises my side and interrupts my train of thought. I growl and kick the shooter in the face. I draw a gun and shoot down the other four mercs. Nowhere major, just the non-lethal combo, a knee, a hand, and a shoulder each. Having incapacitated all of the hired guns, I grab Short Bald man and make a fist, dissolving my quarterstaff and gun. I pull back the fist, concentrating all my power into it so that my blow will kill.

But when I attempt to let loose, I can't. I look at my hand and see a red tendril wrapped around my wrist. It has a mind-origin. I can almost taste the brainpower it takes to restrain me, and I know that with one jerk of my arm, I could fracture my captor's mind. It is a very painful experience, and I don't like inflicting it on anyone, but if this person is a Hydra lover, I won't hesitate.

"Let me go." I growl.

"No. I need a prisoner." A thickly accented female voice says.

"What?" I snap, deadly calm, but the voice doesn't seem deterred.

"I need a prisoner." She repeats. I huff.

"Fine, then." I unfist my hand, taking a deep breath to disperse the energy pent-up inside me, and beckon. A vine of ivy flies through the window and entangles Short Bald man and the tendril of red unwraps from my arm. I make a cutting motion and the section of vine detaches from the whole, the rest of it retreating. I cool down, my flames fading and I shove Short Bald man over to the red shield. It dissolves and the brown haired woman from before steps forward. "Braxton Greene." I say. The woman raises a critical eyebrow.

"Wanda Maximoff."


	4. AN

**Man, guys. I'm so sorry. I was gonna update yesterday, but I wasn't connected to the internet all day. T make up for it, I posted an extra-long chapter on Winter Mist, and a double update on The Leveller. Have a nice day. :)**


	5. Second Meeting

Wanda's POV

"You're an Avenger." He says; his voice lacking the bite it had when he told me to let him go.

"Yes, I am." I grind out. I am an Avenger whose mission has been compromised by a powered civilian. He shrugs, his magnificently bare shoulders bunching and dropping, betraying the raw power within. (No, I don't _like_ him.) He leans past me and locks hands with a stranger, helping him up with a smile. Once the man is standing Braxton turns to me.

"That's cool." He grins.

"Hmm." I nod and skirt around him, heading for the door. Out of the corner of my eye I see him pawing through a black portfolio. He grunts, evidently not finding what he was looking for and stalks past me, yanking the door open and holding it. "Thank you." I say to his tattooed chest. I levitate the Hydra leader and step past him.

"No prob." He sighs. I walk out; head high even amidst the clicking and whirring of paparazzi cameras. The former hostages follow me outside to be fussed over by droves of emergency personnel. Greene comes out last, one Hydra thug over each shoulder. Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff are waiting just beyond the barricade. Greene looks at me and I swallow my irritation, beckoning him over. He joins us behind the barricade in all of his gym short wearing, shirtless glory and dumps the Hydra thugs at the Captain's feet.

"We've met before." Captain Rogers says. There is no question in his tone.

"Yeah." Braxton nods. "You guys saved my butt in a back alley about a month ago."

"I remember." Agent Romanoff smirks. "What're you doing here, Parkour Boy?"

"Getting a savings account." Braxton replies.

"Oh, really?" Captain Rogers says, one eyebrow rising in amusement.

"Totally. When the world goes to shit, you put your money in the bank." Braxton deadpans.

"Language." I mutter, and Romanoff chortles.

"Classic." She grins and the Captain sighs.

"I'm never gonna live that down, am I?" He asks no one in particular.

"What?" Braxton raises his eyebrows.

"Nothing." Romanoff shakes her head. "What are you doing on this side of the barricade?"

"He's powered." I say, and the mirth melts off of Romanoff's face.

"You're gonna have to come with us." She says; her voice no-nonsense.

"Okay." Braxton shrugs again. Oh, those shoulders! I bite down on a sigh.

"You're also gonna have to put a shirt on." Rogers says, rubbing his neck rather sheepishly.

"Don't have one." Braxton mumbles. He won't make eye contact; it's obviously a lie. I decide to call him on it.

"You made a staff out of thin air." I growl. I don't know why, but my irritation with him comes and goes in waves. "Surely you can make a shirt."

"Fine." He sighs. He gives me a dirty look and draws a rectangle in the air. He closes his eyes briefly and a grey sleeveless workout shirt falls into his hands. He pulls the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, sliding it over his torso. "Better?"

"Hmmph." I grunt and walk over to the car. It is easier to be mad at him when he has a shirt on.

"I think she likes me." I hear Braxton say as I climb in. Romanoff laughs, but I roll my eyes and close the door.

"Do not." I mutter.


	6. Welcome to Level Seven

**Here's the new chap guys, it's kinda short, so there's 2 this time. and, btw, apparently there's supposed to be a disclaimer here...**

 **So, I DON'T OWN MARVEL. (obviously, bc if I did, Quicksilver wouldn't have died, and Black Widow would have her own movie...)**

 **I only own the plot and Braxton. Yay.**

The ride back in the car is long, and silent. I sit in the backseat with Wanda, while Romanoff drives. Rogers stares straight ahead, and Wanda looks out of her window, refusing to acknowledge me. I sigh inwardly. I wonder if she can hear my thoughts. If so, all she's gonna hear is herself.

We pull up to a sprawling compound surrounded by perfectly manicured grounds. The building is flawless; all clean glass and grey-white (probably steel-reinforced) brick. Wanda is already inside by the time I get out of the car. I pretend to ignore Rogers and Romanoff sharing a private smile as they lead me inside. Rogers gives the grand tour, as though I'd be staying, and drops me off at the door to an office.

"Good luck." He grins. I nod, because something in his expression indicates that I may need it. I push the door open and walk through, closing it behind me.

"Hello Mr. Greene." A man says. He is of medium height, with a receding hairline, and wears a black suit. "I'm Director Coulson."

"Hey, Director Coulson." I grin. "I'd heard you were alive again."

"Please, sit down." Coulson indicates the chair across the desk from his.

"Thank you, sir." I sit.

"So I heard you are powered, is that correct?" He looks at me.

"Yessir." I nod.

"What are those powers?" He asks. This might be awhile.

TWO HOURS LATER

"And, uh, that's pretty much it." I sigh. Coulson looks just the tiniest bit overwhelmed, until he takes a deep breath and sits up straight.

"Thank you for your cooperation." He smiles.

"You're welcome, sir." I reply.

"Captain America requested that you be assigned to his team." Coulson looks me in the eye. "Do you think you have what it takes?"

"Absolutely."


	7. Orientation and Demonstration part I

Ta-da! Second chapter. Boom.

After Coulson's grilling, I wander back to where Rogers said the training room was. I open the door and I see…pandemonium. It's organized, of course, but pandemonium none the less. The New Avengers are sparring in an urban-esque guerrilla warfare setting. The lights are all dimmed, but I see the shimmer of the Vision's cape as he phases through stuff, I hear the whine of War Machine's repulsors as he flies overhead, and the distinctive clang of Cap's shield. Romanoff runs right past me, then skids to a stop and comes back.

"Hey, Greene." She grins.

"Uh, hi." I say. "Nifty spot you've got here."

"Yeah." She pauses. "Wanna join? Show your stuff?"

"Oh- okay." I shrug. "It'd save time explaining what I can do, I guess."

"Okay then. Rules are simple. Hit as many droids and drones as possible. When they're all disabled, the bell will ring. If you get shot with an electriFryer, you're out for five minutes. Cover your teammates' backs, they'll cover yours." Romanoff says.

"An electri…Fryer?" I ask.

"When it hits you, it freezes you, and throws off any tech you're wearing for the five minutes." Romanoff explains; she hits a button on her black catsuit. When she speaks, her words are projected over a loudspeaker. "Braxton Greene is entering the sequence."

"So I go now?" I ask.

"Yeah, go on. No holds barred, do whatever you need to do to neutralize the enemy." Romanoff says, running back into the fray.

"Oh yeah." I say, taking a deep breath. I exhale, releasing the control I hold onto so hard all the time. I sigh as the heat floods my body and I burst into flames. My hands, however, stay blissfully cold as I concentrate my ice into them. I shake out my arms and draw a battleax in the air. It materializes in my hand and I burn my insignia onto the handle. I run a few steps, then jump, flying into the makeshift battlefield. It's even darker inside than outside. Thanks to my flames, I can see it when I fly over first Rogers, then the Falcon, Sam Wilson. I want to keep going, fly around a few times to get a grasp of the area, but I am stopped by a drone zooming into my face.

A quick swipe of my ax eliminates that one, but right before it cuts out, falling from the air, it lets out an ear-splitting screech. A homing beacon upon further investigation. Further investigation being in the form of first one, then two, then twelve droids whizzing towards me. I don't really think I'm worth twelve droids, and while in a real battle I could take them all down, even if they shoot at me, in this simulation I can't just keep going. These little shits shoot electrocution devices capable of suspending locomotive capabilities. That ain't a bullet.

I can sense the Vision floating near me; a few yards to my right to be precise. He doesn't feel previously occupied, so I decide to bring him my droid problem. I fly as fast as I can in his direction, so fast that I feel like a comet in the air. I stop just a foot short of him and swing my ax through the nearest droid. Luckily for me, these pieces of tech are crap work. They break immediately upon contact with my blade. After I take out the first one, they start firing.

Thankfully, the Vision seems to get the idea and he starts blasting the metallic men out of the air. Between the two of us, we dispatch the whole group in a matter of seconds.

"Braxton Greene, I would assume?" The Vision asks in a pleasant British accent.

"You assume correctly." I grin. "Thanks, by the way. Those things really came out of nowhere!"

"You are welcome." The Vision says with a smile. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead his steel grey-blue eyes focus in on something behind me. "Do watch out, please."

"Okay." I duck and he blasts something. "What was it?"

"A drone." He returns. "You may want to leave, they are now after me."

"No way!" I frown. "You didn't leave me hanging."

"Aww, shit!" A muffled voice says in the distance. It is the War Machine, James Rhodes.

"You must assist Colonel Rhodes. I will hold off the droids." The Vision says, evermore unflappably calm. "Go."

"Alright." I say, pausing to feel for the incoming enemy. I point straight ahead of us. "They'll come from there." I say, flying in the opposite direction. I keep going until I can hear Rhodes as well as feel him. Apparently, I am right on time, because he has just gotten shot. I fly under him as he hurtles out of the sky, and he lands on me. I crawl out from under him, sore but unhurt. I fly back up and destroy the drones. I throw fire balls, freeze them, and hack them to pieces. Once they are all gone, I land next to Rhodes.

"Wow." He says through the face plate.

"Thanks." I say. "Rhodes, right?"

"Yeah." He says. "Y'know, it feels weird, not being able to move."

"Oh, I know." I say.

"Are you gonna stay until it wears off?" He asks.

"Why? Do you want me to?" I lift an eyebrow, sitting down next to his prostrate form.

"If you don't mind." He says, somewhat sheepishly. "It's a bitch trying to take off again the first few times."

"No problem." I laugh. "I'll stay 'till you're operational again. Hold off the drones 'n' droids."

"So…you fly." Rhodes says.

"Among other things." I shrug.

"Why'd you fly under me?" Rhodes sounds worried. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I don't bruise so easy. And I figured, you might as well not completely **total** the suit in a training exercise." I chuckle humorlessly.

"Well, thanks." Rhodes says. We sit the rest of the time in companionable silence. Once the suit comes back online, I make ready to go.

"Hey," I say. "The whole, getting shot thing…you sounded like you spoke from prior experience."

"Well…I may or may or may not have gotten shot down twice before now…" Rhodes scratches the back of his metal plated neck.

"Just a big gray target, aren't you?" I grin. Rhodes faceplate slides up and he fake glares at me.

"Shut up."

"Okay. Just saying."

"Go away."

"Alright." I say, and when I do fly away, I feel like I've made a new friend. Which is corny as hell.


	8. Orientation and Demonstration II

**And here's the other part.**

"Aww, crap." I stand back to back with the Falcon, surrounded by droids. I grip my ax in my sweaty palms and his wings are fully extended.

" Oh yeah. 'Aww, crap' is right." The Falcon says through clenched teeth. "You ready for this?"

"I was born ready, man." I breathe; my flames smoldering. "Bet I can kill more."

"You're on." Sam laughs. "Three, two-"

"ONE!" I yell and throw a huge gust of wind in a circle, dismantling all the droids and knocking him onto his butt before he can even take off. Sam picks himself up, giving me a dirty look.

"Cheater." He mutters, dusting himself off. He isn't disappointed for long, however, as more droids come pouring out of the jumbled mass of scrap metal around us. He takes off straight from the ground with a mighty flap of his wings, shooting down droids left and right.

"Oh, no. You did _not_ just call me a cheater." I say. I flare up again and run through the crowd of droids on the ground, swinging my ax to and fro, knocking them all over.

"I win." Sam announces smugly after the first wave is neutralized. "Even though you cheated again."

"What did I do this time?" I roll my eyes. Wilson points to my leg. An electriFryer is embedded in my calf.

"I saw it go in." He explains while I pull it out. "You were in total Beast Mode. I kept waiting for you to freeze up, but you just kept going."

"Oops." I shrug. "I'll keep my guard down next time. I keep forgetting this isn't a life-or-death scenario."

"So I see." Falcon laughs. "So you gonna stay, or go?"

"I'd love to keep being a total Gangsta and whipping your wings off, but I wanna see the rest of this place." I grin.

"Well, in that case, it's been fun." Wilson extends his hand and I shake it.

"It has." I say as I walk away. "Don't worry, though. I'll be back."

"I'm sure." He says. "FYI though, please never say gangsta again."

"No promises!" I laugh. He facepalms and I take off running, going until I find the far wall from where I started. I stop next to it and command the concrete floor to open. I call dirt into the crack and start a small plant. After that's done, I run on. After a few minutes, and a few stray droids, I come upon the Captain and Romanoff fighting off several dozen droids and their accompanying drones. I chuck my ax across the space, nailing a would-be shooting droid to a piece of scrap. I fly across to them and retrieve my ax.

Once my weapon is in hand, I start attacking droids with a vengeance. Cap's shield whistles past me, while Romanoff kicks and punches mercilessly; both a bit too close for comfort sometimes, but neither hit me. The three of us work seamlessly, each of us complementing the others.

A droid approaches, grabbing me before I can throw my ax and Cap destroys it with a quick shield throw. The shield slices off the droid's head and Romanoff runs up, catching the shield and slamming it into a drone that comes up behind Rogers. She lands in a perfect drop-roll in front of me, flinging the shield to Cap and comes up with a roundhouse kick above my head while I slide under her to cut open a droid about to shoot. Rogers lands a blow on a drone about to shoot me in the face and I nod my thanks, picking myself and my ax up. I cut down another drone, but a particularly large droid picks me up and flies me away from the others.

"Greene!" Rogers shouts. "You alright?"

"I'll be fine!" I yell back. We grapple midair for a few seconds. I try to fly away but it has my leg in its hand. I try to pry its fingers off and in the ensuing scuffle, it rips my shirt in half. I shrug off the rest and manage to rip away its chest plate. We are still flying faster than I'd like, so I manipulate the air around us to slow us down.

I swing my legs up midair with a grunt and latch onto the droid's back. I punch it repeatedly, and since my ax is too long to cut it down, I fry its body instead. It goes down and I think I've gotten away clean, but a drone appears out of nowhere and shoots me. I feel myself freezing up and I close my eyes as I drop out of the air.


	9. Orientation and Demonstration III

**Here's the new chapter; in which we see sexual tension turn into actual tension. Ohhhh...**

 **Also, btw, this is coincidentally the longest chapter since the first one. This one kinda ran away with me. Oops.**

I open my eyes and I see…Maximoff.

"Are you alright?" She asks in that accent of hers.

"…" I try to open my mouth, but I can't. I grunt my assent instead.

"Good." She sighs shortly. "Did you have to fall in my corner?"

"Didn't 'ean to." I grind out. "'Th-orry."

"Is fine. I am just starting to wonder if I will ever meet you with a shirt **on**." She rolls her eyes at me and rends an incoming droid in two. I can feel my functions coming back. I sit up stiffly as the last of the hit wears off. I stand and stretch, bursting into flames and picking my ax back up. I close my fist over it, gripping the smooth handle. A droid grabs me in a chokehold and before Maximoff can even look up from where she crushes a crowd of Droids, I freeze my captor solid with just my neck.

"Ugh." She crinkles her nose at the mangled droid on the ground behind me. "I hope you realize brute strength will get you nowhere."

"I hope you realize I don't care." I mutter, slicing a droid's skull piece open. I'm not sure why she puts me in a bad mood. Maybe it's because she makes me nervous and I wish she didn't.

"It would do you well to listen to me." She glares at me once the wave is decimated. "I know what I am talking about."

"I don't doubt it." I roll my eyes. I know why I am the way I am around her. What's her problem, though?

"Do not lie to me." She hisses. "You do not believe that I am anything more than a silly girl. When in reality, I am the same age as you."

"Get out of my head, Maximoff." I turn to face her finally, and although she looks pants-shittingly terrifying with her eyes glowing red like they are, I can't find the give-a-crap to be afraid of her. "You have no clue what I can do to you, because I guarantee you won't find it up there."

"I can find whatsoever I wish." She grins, a dark, twisted thing. "I can bring you begging to your knees with a single turn of my hand."

"I truly doubt that." I growl. "And I am older than you."

"Do you know what it is like to see your worst fears?" She circles me slowly. I slam my ax into the floor, cracking it, and it sticks there, handle up.

"I do." I growl, backing her into a piece of scrap metal. "I live them every day of my goddamn life. How about you?"

"My worst nightmares have already come true." She laughs, but her tone contains no humor. "I have nothing to do but induce fear in others."

"Then by all means, _A ghrá_ , try to bring me to my knees." I curl my lip at her as she twitches her fingers at my temple, red mist flowing into my head.

All of a sudden my senses are overwhelmed. It is snippets, flashes.

 _"_ _No!" I shout as_ _ **they**_ _lift her out of my arms. She is still warm. "'Lia!"_

 _"_ _I hate you." Felicity growls. "And when I'm done, your father will finally realize he hates you too."_

 _"_ _You took her from me." Dad's eyes narrow as he grabs me by my throat. "I wish you'd never been born." He drops me to the ground in disgust. "You maggot."_

 _"_ _Hush now, my baby," My mother's voice echoes. "Be still, don't cry. Sleep; you're right here with me…Sleep and remember, this lullaby; and I will be there when you dream…"_

 _"_ _I love you, Brax." Sara says as she falls asleep by me for the last time before she is taken. "I love you forever."_

 _"_ _Oh, god, Dad! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" I wail. "Don't die!"_

 _"_ _It's alright." My father says. His blood is all over the floor; all over_ _ **me**_ _. "Thank you for showing me how wrong I was. You saved me from a miserable life." He smiled through the stream of blood trickling out of his mouth. "I love you, Braxton. I'm so proud to call you my son…" His voice trails off as his body goes slack. Dead._

I am still standing over Wanda, shaky and stiff, surrounded by droid carcasses burned, frozen, encased in stone, or crushed by thick vines. I wasn't brought to my knees. Wanda is curled into a ball on the ground.

"Get up." I snap; my voice cold. She looks me in the eye and flinches. My irises must have lost their color.

"Braxton…" She starts. Her voice is thick. "I am sorry, I did not know–"

"Stop!" I bark. I breathe in, and then out. I can feel the steam rising off of and curling around my face and body. "Just stop. Don't ever do that again."

"I…" Wanda frowns, standing up.

"No!" I seethe. "The **_only_** reason you aren't dead right now, is because I dared you to." I take a step closer. "But I promise you, that if you _ever_ try that again, I will snap your neck before you form a coherent thought. Understand?"

Wanda nods her assent.

"Good. I'm gonna establish a mind link with you. That's my only telepathic power." I close my eyes briefly. "Done. Now if you try anything, I'll have the jump on you."

Alarm bells ring three times, and the lights come back up.

"Finally." I growl, snatching my ax out of the ground. I stalk out of the urban jungle, following the Vision to the adjoining cool down room. There are water bottles, benches, and towels. The whole team is there. Rhodes is stepping out of his armor; Sam, removing his flight pack; Romanoff and Rodgers sitting down, waiting for everyone to get into the room, apparently.

"You okay there, buddy?" Sam asks, mopping sweat off of his brow.

"I'm fine." I huff. I feel Wanda trudge through the door behind me, and I move forward automatically. She slips in behind me, along the back of the room, grabbing a water bottle and avoiding my gaze.

"You sure?" Sam raises an eyebrow, looking between me and Wanda. "Cuz I coulda sworn…"

"I'm fine, Sam." I bite out and Sam shrugs. I toss the towel over my head, rubbing the sweat out of my hair. I breathe in; then out, and Rogers stands.

"You all did very well." He smiles. "This was a…interesting exercise, but you handled it well."

"We're gonna move to the conference room, and review the footage." Romanoff says. "C'mon."

"Ugh." Rhodes groans. "More walking."

"Lazy bum." Sam laughs.


	10. Recompense

We are sitting in the conference room, around a big, circular table with holographic images at its center. We've seen Rhodes performance, the Vision's, Sam's, Rogers', and Romanoff's. The only ones left are mine and Maximoff's. We are mostly through hers now. I will be coming any moment.

"And there's Greene." Rhodes sighs. Seeing himself get shot down 3 times in hi-def. really soured his mood. I look at the images as the sounds of the fight flood the room from the hidden speakers. I watch myself fall from the sky at Maximoff's feet with a sort of detached objectivity. I see her look down at me.

"Are you alright?" Video-Maximoff asks.

Video-me grunts.

"Good." She sighs. "Did you have to fall in my corner?"

"Didn't 'ean to." I say onscreen. "'Th-orry."

"Is fine." Video Maximoff rolls her eyes. "Am just starting to wonder if I will ever meet you with shirt **on**." Real Sam snickers next to me as Video Maximoff blasts an incoming droid out of the sky. Video-me sits up. I stand and stretch, bursting into flames. Onscreen, I pick my ax back up and squeeze the handle. A droid grabs me in a chokehold and I freeze it solid with just my neck.

"Impressive." The Vision notes.

"Ugh." Video Maximoff crinkles her nose at the mangled droid on the ground behind Video-me. "I hope you realize brute strength will get you nowhere."

"I hope you realize I don't care." Video-me mutters, slicing a droid's skull open.

"Ouch." Real Sam winces and I look away from him.

"It would do you well to listen to me." Video Maximoff continues, glaring at me. "I know what I am talking about."

"I don't doubt it." Video-me rolls my eyes. In real time, I flinch. I really was a rude bastard. I provoked her.

"Do not lie to me." Video Maximoff hisses. "You do not believe that I am anything more than a silly girl. When in reality, I am the same age as you."

"Get out of my head, Maximoff." Video-me turns to face her. Real Romanoff shakes her head with a bitter smile. "You have no clue what I can do to you, because I guarantee you won't find it up there."

"I can find whatsoever I wish." Video Maximoff grins. "I can bring you begging to your knees with a single turn of my hand."

"I truly doubt that." Video-me growls. "And I am older than you."

"Do you know what it is like to see your worst fears?" Video Maximoff circles Video-me slowly. Onscreen, I slam my ax into the floor, cracking it, and it sticks there, handle up. Real-time Rogers raises his eyebrows.

"I do." Video-me growls, backing Video Maximoff into a piece of scrap metal. "I live them every day of my goddamn life. How about you?"

"Drama!" Real-time Rhodes stage-whispers.

"My worst nightmares have already come true." Video Maximoff laughs and Real Maximoff ducks her head under my gaze. "I have nothing to do but induce fear in others."

"Then by all means, _A ghrá_ ," I see Rogers flinch at the Gaelic. "Try to bring me to my knees." Video-me curls my lip at Video Maximoff as she twitches her fingers at my temple, red mist flowing into my head. Real Rhodes' mouth drifts open as Video-me stiffens, eyes glazing over.

Video-me jerks, reaching for something unseen, then stiffens, leaning away by instinct. Video Maximoff falls back against the scrap metal behind her, and Onscreen, I claw at my throat, stumbling backwards suddenly. Video-me's tense shoulders relax then and the smallest of smiles creeps across my face, my eyes sliding shut. But as soon as the look sets in, it is gone, and my eyes snap back open, wide and panicked. Several droids fly towards Video-me and Video Maximoff, but I yell, loudly, a wild fearsome thing and they all are crushed with stone and vines, combusted or frozen.

Video-me snaps out of it, still standing over Video Maximoff, shaking. Maximoff is now curled into a ball on the ground.

"Get up." Video-me snaps. Video Maximoff looks me in the eye and flinches, standing.

"Braxton…" She starts in a thick voice. "I am sorry, I did not know–"

"Stop!" Video-me barks. Onscreen, I breathe deeply. Steam rises off of my face and body. "Just stop. Don't ever do that again."

"I…" Video Maximoff frowns.

"No!" Video-me seethes. "The **_only_** reason you aren't dead right now, is because I dared you to." I take a step closer. "But I promise you, that if you _ever_ try that again, I will snap your neck before you form a coherent thought. Understand?"

Video Maximoff nods.

"Good. I'm gonna establish a mind link with you. That's my only telepathic power." Video-me's eyes close, then open again. "Done. Now if you try anything, I'll have the jump on you."

Alarm bells ring three times, sounding small and tinny on the video and the lights come back up.

"Finally." Video-me growls, snatching my ax out of the ground, and the feed cuts out.

There is shocked silence around the table, until Rogers looks first at me then at Maximoff.

"You were messing with his mind?" He demands sharply. "Why?"

"I-I don't know, I just, I thought…" Maximoff stutters. I would feel sorry for her, but I am on auto-pilot.

"What did you see?" Romanoff asks me, and Rogers quiets. I sigh.

"Do you want just the basics, or my whole life story so that it's relevant?" I chuckle mirthlessly.

"Whatever makes you comfortable, I guess?" Rogers says. "I really don't know what to say to that."

"Okay, then." I shrug. "I'm not a good man. Sure I've saved people, but it wasn't really for a good reason. I don't care about the general population, honestly. I just hate bullies; and those are really two different things."

"That may be true." The Vision says quietly, carefully. "But I feel that as long as the result is the same, you are still on the side of right."

"Thanks, Vizh." I smile softly. "Well, uh, I guess I should start from the beginning…"


	11. This is My Story

**So here we have some nice Braxton backstory here. Don't be fooled. He is so much deeper than this, it's not even funny. But he wouldn't very well spill his guts on the first day, would he?**

 **Personally, I think this chapter is crappy. Too much word vomit. But it gets the job done. Next week will be better. I would post it today, but I'm still tweaking it, so it'll be a bit longer.**

"I never met my mother." I begin. "She died giving birth to me and my sister. I remember hearing my father cry in his room at night when we were little. My father, uh, he was a hard man, but he loved my mother, and he loved us. Or at least, he did." I shrug and swallow hard. Stupid throat, choking up on me. "When we were seven, he married another woman…Felicity. When they were dating, she was so nice to us; I thought we could be a- a family again. What can I say? I was pretty ideological. I was the younger brother, after all. Sara, my sister, she always had a better grasp on reality. She never liked Felicity." I grin, letting the nostalgia wash over me.

"Turned out Sara was right all along. Once my dad married her, Felicity, she just…oh, god. She would hit Sara. Not like discipline; I mean like punches, a lot of them for no reason. When that happened, it hurt. I protected Sara a lot then. She was older, by at least 2 hours, but I was bigger. She was always a little thing, my sister. I held Felicity off most of the time, but I couldn't protect her forever. I think that….woman was doing shady things to my dad. 'Cause over time, his personality just flipped." I sit back, my expression hardening.

"He gave her up for adoption. Felicity was in his ear, for sure, but he gave up his own daughter. That was one of the images. I saw my sister's face on that last night before Dad dropped her off. We were poor, so we shared a bed, me and Sara, that is. There weren't a lot of options for people who were poor back then." Rogers stops me.

"What do you mean, 'back then'?" He asks. I clench my jaw.

"It's not important." I say.

"Where are you from?" He asks.

"I'm from New York. But my father was Irish and Canadian and my mother was, Sokovian, actually. Well, she was from there; she was actually Romani." I shrug.

"Interesting." Rogers nods. "Carry on."

"Okay." I nod. "So after Felicity got Sara out of the way, I guess her next mission was to turn my father against me. Probably so she could start a new family with my Dad without any pesky step-children. She succeeded in her mission, because it wasn't even three months before he started blaming me for my mother's death. I was eight at the time and very easily impressable. I actually believed that I had killed my own mother by being born, basically. That was two more of them, Felicity saying she hated me and my father saying my mother's death was my fault."

I inhale and exhale, the breath shuddering horribly on the way out. "Sorry. I, uh. I'm sorry." I duck my head then look up. Sam puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'm good. Felicity died when I was ten, but not before she made my father do some pretty horrible things to me. I got the tattoo on my back, much later of course, to hide the scars. Another vision was of when my father died. I don't really talk about that one." I look around the table. "And the last one…well, when I was sixteen, I met this girl. We really hit it off, I was gonna marry her when we graduated. But she died."

"Whoa." Rhodes murmurs.

"Yeah." I nod. "That's all. For now I guess. The other details are just too personal."

 **Yeah... Just, tell me how it was. I know it was unbearably short and very choppy, but bear with me. This was my first idea on this site. Maybe not the first published, but my first thought, at least. Winter Mist gets all my attention, these days, but I'm working on it.**

 **PLEASE REVIEW! I'm pretty chill usually if you can't do it, and I know most people probably just read and leave but reviews help authors with their self esteem. Seriously. Please review.**

 **Thank you for reading this.**


	12. Nightmarin'

**Here's our weekly dose of MaximoffxGreene angst/romantic tension. Enjoy.**

Wanda's POV

I did not mean to. I don't know what happened to me. One minute it was just simple irritation, and then all of a sudden I'd done something I swore to stop. Captain Rogers gave me a stern talking-to. One that I most certainly deserved. This is why I need my brother back. If Pietro was here, I never would have done that to Braxton.

My brother always helped me control my temper; my thirst for revenge, my desire to conquer, my powers themselves! Oh, _draga frate_ , how I miss you! Sometimes I wish I had died with my brother, in our homeland. I suppose it's wrong to hate the Vision for saving me, but sometimes I just can't hold back the animosity. Some days, his very presence just disgusts me.

I went to bed early tonight. Braxton and the other Avengers are still laughing and talking; getting to know one another in the common room, but I am too ashamed to sit with them. I was in the wrong today. But even if I had done nothing, I wouldn't have the mettle to sit with them. I was always the shyer one of us. I planned and schemed, but Pietro had the charisma. Oh, my brother…I wish you were here, with me…

 _Pietro stands outside, right in front of me, with his signature smirk firmly set in that patchy beard of his. I hated that thing so much. It always made his kisses prickly. But now I don't care if they prickle all day long, because he is here with me, where he belongs. Or maybe I'm with him, but as long as we're together, I don't care if I'm alive or dead._

 _"_ _ **Alo**_ _,_ _ **Sora mica**_ _." Pietro says. His voice is still thick with his accent and deep, and I am so glad to see him, I don't even bother to remind him that we are the same age._

 _"_ _ **Alo**_ _,_ _ **meu Pietro**_ _." I say, and I am in his arms. They are still strong and warm and I never want to leave again. But just as soon as the embrace started, it is over and Pietro stands stiffly on the other side of a large white room. I run over to him and he stares sadly at me._

 _"_ _You did this to me." His voice breaks and he looks down. His body is suddenly ripped full of bloody holes and the pain tears through me too._

 _"_ _Pietro, NO!" I wail, falling at his feet, and he grins weakly. He collapses into my arms and looks up at me._

 _"_ _Didn't see that coming; did you Wanda?" He rasps, then a last shuddering breath is released. He is dead, and my soul is ripped in half. My name is his last word and it echoes around me, louder and louder until the ground shakes. I am thrown down and restraints, similar to the ones in Strucker's lab encircle my wrists. I cannot move, and the panic is unbearable. My brother is dead Hydra has got me and all around my name echoes, now at a fever pitch, cracking the ground; ripping me open…_

"Wanda!" It is Braxton's voice now, and someone is shaking me with their hands on my wrists. My eyes snap open and I see Braxton's face. My room is destroyed. Things are thrown around and broken and Braxton…his arm is cut. He lets my arms go and I leap backwards, falling out of my bed and into the corner.

"I have hurt you." I breathe. My voice is hoarse; I must have been screaming in my sleep. "Again."

"I'm fine." He says it simply, flatly; without inflection.

"Do not lie to me." I sniff softly. His face fractures and the stoicism melts away.

"I'm not lying to you. I really am fine." He puts his hand over the cut and closes his eyes. When he lifts his hand, the cut is healed. "See? All better."

"I am sorry." I whisper. "For everything."

"I forgive you." He swallows.

"Thank you." I say. I can't go back to sleep right now, but I can't ask him for what I really want either. It is too soon and too personal.

"Do you want me to stay?" He asks.

"Wha-?" My jaw drops. "How did you-?"

"Mind link." He taps his temple. "Remember?"

"Ah, yes." My face flushes. Stupid. How did I forget? Braxton sits on my bed, scooting back to sit against my headboard. I sit next to him tentatively and he gathers me into his arms. His embrace is different from Pietro's. Braxton's arms are thicker with muscle; all of him is really. Pietro was built like a runner, lean and fast. But the comfort offered, though different as well, has the same effect. I lean my head against Braxton's chest and close my eyes.

 **Uh...yeah. Personally, I like this chapter the best so far.**

 **Translations: Hello, little sister. (bet you guessed that)**

 **Hello, my Pietro. (makes sense, no?)**

 **I don't really have anything to say... Review, I guess. I'd appreciate it. I guess I should let you know that this story is not as much angst dump as my other one, Winter Mist. I mean, this one looks like more of a fun story, and it is, but in this one Wanda is struggling. She's raw, which is why I like it.**


	13. More Than a Feeling

**Here's some feels for our favorite love/hate couple! And a new cover image of Braxton's Battle-ax.**

 **And intruding!Steve. Always intruding!Steve. Because awkward...**

I don't know what possessed me to stay with Wanda last night. She is asleep still, and even though the sun has long since risen, I can't find it in my heart to wake her up. Despite all she has done to me, she still looks angelic with all her worries erased in slumber. I brush the hair out of her face, (a tender gesture I'm not sure why I attempt) and slide her out of my lap.

I stand, stretch, and run a hand through my long, thick hair while walking over to the window, gingerly stepping over piles of stuff everywhere. The room looks like a hurricane hit it. Hurricane Wanda. I lift my shirt, inspecting the long, shallow gash across my torso from Maximoff's nightmare last night. It hurts, but I wasn't about to do anything last night. She nearly went catatonic when she only thought I had that tiny scratch on my arm. Behind me, the door opens, breaking me from my stupor.

"Hey, Wanda? I- oh." The voice is Steve's and the silence that follows his words is awkward.

"She's asleep." I say. I don't bother turning around, because I know that the look of flustered embarrassment that so often graces Rogers' face will surely adorn it once again. I understand and empathize with his trepidation, and being a man out of time and all, but it's not like I slept with her like _that_.

"Oh- um, o-okay, thanks." He stutters and I nod. Once the door closes again I heal over the cut, dropping my shirt hem, and look down at Maximoff again. She really is small. Walking around, she seems bigger, but last night I realized just how small she really is. Lightweight, slim, and short, she is dwarfed by both her bed and her spirit. As I stand there, she stirs and her eyes open. I smile slightly and the corner of her mouth curves in an apologetic smile.

"Morning." I say quietly.

"Good morning." She whispers, sitting up.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask.

"You saw." She says, but she appears to be joking.

"I mean after that." I quip, deciding to stick to her good mood.

"Fine." She ducks her head, peering at me through her long lashes.

"Wanda, about yesterday, I…"

"I am sorry for everything I have done, and grateful for everything you have done." She cuts me off quietly. "But I can neither force you to forgive me, nor accept my thanks."

"Wanda." I say. She sounds broken, and that was not my intent. I, for one, feel that she has had quite enough brokenness. But of course, she continues and I am powerless to stop her.

"The Avengers most likely want nothing to do with me, which I most certainly deserve, and you need not feel obligated to do anything, either. I was wrong to do what I did, and you do not have to burden yourself any longer."

"Wanda, you're not a burden." I sigh. I walk over to the foot of her bed, standing in front of the door.

"You say that out of an obligatory sense of politeness rather than a true belief in your words." She says it with a sad smile, and appears to be fighting tears. I brush her mind softly and I feel and overwhelming sense of hurt, pain, and guilt. "And besides, even if you believed this, belief alone does not make it so."

"I do believe it." I insist. I feel like a one-man army, fighting a legion force up a steep hill. No matter what I do, I cannot win. "You aren't a burden to me. You've done things people don't like, just like all of us in this compound. I forgive you. I was angry, but I'm not anymore."

"You are kind." She stands and walks over to me. "And I thank you, but this is something that is not up to you to fix."

She puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on my forearm, raising herself onto her toes. She pauses, and I take this moment to observe the flecks of black and gold in her brown eyes.

They are a rich color, deep and solemn, and they remind me of how I've always personified autumn. Her skin is flawless and smooth. She truly is beautiful. After a moment's hesitation, she leans forward and kisses my cheek. Her lips are warm and soft and they linger for a moment before she pulls away. In that split second before she's too far away, I wonder, fleetingly, what it would be like to capture her lips with mine.

"Wanda, I can help you." I say, shaking the thought out of my head as she opens the door behind me.

"Thank you." She shakes her head, backing away. "But that is not your job."

 **Next chapter has two special guests! Read, Review, and enjoy.**


	14. He lives in you

**She likes him, she wants to kiss him, and all that stuff. But she won't. Stubborn Wanda.**

Wanda's POV

As Braxton left, he had the sweetest look of cluelessness I've seen since Pietro was alive. I didn't want to push him away, but I am a sinking ship, and he is too new to deserve to go down with me. After that night, I avoided him ardently. It has been a week so far, and though I barely know him, I actually miss him. I have not gone into his mind since then, but occasionally, I can feel him thinking. When he is happy or especially excited, I feel him. When he is angry he is silent. In between times his mind is a pleasant buzz in mine.

I am in the training room, working fervently over a punch bag. My hands are raw, even though I wrapped them, and I am famished. I skipped breakfast to avoid Braxton, but I am paying in stomach cramps. I still the bag, and proceed to unwrap my knuckles. They are red and stiff, and it hurts to open them. I shake out my sore fingers and limp into the kitchen. Someone in a chintzy-looking suit that probably cost a fortune sits on one of the barstools at the counter. As I enter, the figure turns around, a fake smile plastered on his goateed face.

"Morning, little Red." Stark. I have half a mind to limp back down to the training room, hunger be dammed, but an uncomfortable twist of my stomach has me rooting around in the fridge instead. I poke around, partially looking for something to eat but mostly ignoring Stark. No such luck. "I said, good morning."

I raise my head, glaring at Stark above the refrigerator door. He smirks back at me and I roll my eyes, ducking back into the fridge. I find a carton of strawberry yoghurt that isn't expired and doesn't have anyone's name scrawled on it. It will have to do. I rip off the lid and grab a spoon, sliding painfully onto the counter.

"Are you really gonna sit there and ignore me?" Stark asks as I raise a spoonful of yoghurt. I look up at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Do you not see me doing so?" I snark back, leaning gingerly against a cupboard and shoveling the scoop into my mouth. Stark opens his mouth, but is promptly cut off by Clint of all people. I swallow. I thought he retired.

"SHIELD retirement is different." He grins. Oops, must have said that out loud. "Besides, I wanted to see how you're doing."

"Passable." I shrug, looking down at my yogurt. "How're you?"

"I'm good." Clint smiles, but he doesn't look at me long. I don't have to enter his mind to see his guilt. He is grateful to be alive, but guilty that his safety came at the cost of the last person I loved.

"Really?" Stark exclaims. "You totally ignore me, but when Robin Hood comes in, you nearly trip over yourself greeting him."

"It's called being friendly, Tony." Clint teases. "You give it, you get it back."

"Hmph." Stark grunts. "So where are the rest of the newbs?"

"I just got here." Clint laughs. "And judging by the state of her hands, Wanda's been hitting something inanimate all morning."

"It was a punching bag." I blush.

"Ah." Clint grins. "I figured."

"Morning, Clint." Agent Romanoff…no, Natasha says, walking into the kitchen.

"Morning, Nat." Clint hugs her.

"What're you doing here?" Natasha frowns.

"Ignoring me, just like you apparently." Stark quips.

"No one's forgotten you, Stark." Natasha smirks.

"I heard there was an even newer newbie." Clint says, answering Natasha's question. "I wanna meet him."

"Meet who?" Braxton says, strolling in, soaked in sweat. His hair is darkened and dripping with sweat, and the top part is tousled. He must've gotten a haircut this week. His hair used to be long in the back, but now it is shorn close enough for me to see his head. He's trailed by Colonel Rhodes, the Vision, Sam, and Captain Rogers.

Aaaaand, that's my cue. I swallow the last spoon of yoghurt and hop off of the counter. My only objective is getting out of the room before Captain Rogers notices that the entire New Avengers team is in one room. (It is nearly impossible feat that the Captain has been attempting for several days; someone is almost always sleeping, or previously occupied, or conspicuously absent… *Vision* cough cough…)

"You." Clint says. He raises an eyebrow at Braxton. "You're a pretty big guy."

"Oh, ah, th-thanks?" Braxton stutters. "Hazards of being me, I guess."

I have to escape, before Captain Rogers suggests some team-bonding shit-fest like the debacle from last week. I always get wound up in enclosed spaces; I always have, even before Pietro's death. I suppose it is holdover from Baron Strucker's lab. So, note to the Captain, don't stick me in enclosed, metallic, lab-like spaces with pieces of machinery that look suspiciously like copies of the evil AI that killed my brother.

But, of course, there is no rest for the weary-of-Captain-America's-schemes. I slam straight into Braxton, head-first. He is so tall; I get a facefull of chest sweat and nearly fall.

"Whoa! You alright, there?" He says, his large hands on my upper arms, steadying me. Meanwhile the other men are greeting Stark and Clint.

"I am fine." I say. I can practically feel the flush creeping up my neck, and behind me Stark snickers. I spin around and pin him with a grade-A glare.

"Don't mind me, lovebirds." Stark shrugs. I roll my eyes and Braxton scratches the back of his neck. "Anyway, Capsicle, I'm having a party tonight at eight, and I think your team needs to unwind."

"At the tower?" Captain Rogers asks.

"Steve." Natasha whispers. "You're not really considering it?"

"Actually I am." The Captain says. "The new team needs to get to know each other."

Aaaaand, there it is. That's the team-bonding shit-fest I was trying to avoid. Maybe if I melt away, out of the room, I can pretend that I never heard this. Erasing my presence here from their memories would be wrong, but it is certainly tempting. I instead start moving, inch by inch, out of the kitchen area. Once I get clear, I'll make a break for it.

"Besides," Captain Rogers continues, "if we go, we can just skip the field training exercise I had planned for today: a nature run/obstacle course. Personally, I was kinda excited, but I know how you guys get about this stuff."

Personally, I'd rather run through Captain Rogers' Army-nature-obstacle-torture course barefoot. Alone. In winter. That is, if it meant I could skip a Stark party. All that socializing with people who don't care anything about us. The here-again-gone-again summer friends. The ones who exult us when we win our battles and deride us when there are casualties.

As if they could do better. As if there are any wars without casualties. The people, who call the Vision a robot, told Clint that archery isn't a viable modern battle skill, treat Captain Rogers like a living history exhibit, and ask if I was screwing Pietro. (Even if I was, it would be a cold day in hell before I told one of them.)

I am still edging away while everyone else expresses agreement and some indicate that they have nothing to wear. I am about three feet away from where I can turn tail and run without making a scene. Stark is assuring everyone that slacks and button downs are okay, as well as sundresses or cocktail dresses. One foot away and I am turning to bolt soon, when (damnit) Natasha turns to me; or at least, where I was. She looks around, finding me as close to the opening to the hallway as one can get, (while still feasibly being "in the room") and steadily easing into the hall backwards.

"Hey, Maximoff!" A stab of pain goes through my heart at the reminder that I am the only Maximoff left. All eyes in the room are on me, not that I care, and Romanoff apparently wants me next to her. I heave a silent sigh and limp back over to the group, staying both as far from Stark and as close to Romanoff as can be done.

"Da?" I say, and then mentally smack myself. Stupid. That was in Romanian. But Romanoff doesn't miss a step.

"You're going, right?" She asks. But anyone who knows her, has been trained by her, or has even been in the same room as her, knows that she didn't mean it as a question. It was more an affirmation.

"I am going." I say. I don't want to, and I nearly gag on the words, but refusing doesn't appear to be an option. "But I do not have anything to wear."

"I told you already, the dress code isn't as stiff as you are." Stark scoffs.

"Not everyone has the resources you do, Stark." I spit his name like it's a bitter taste, and in a way, it is. "Party wear is not on list of necessities in Sokovia." I turn around and limp out of the room, tears threatening to fall for the third time today. Damn emotions. Behind me, I hear Sam sigh.

"That was cold, man." He says. Thankfully, I do not have to hear the rest of the conversation. It will do me well to get a break from Stark, especially if I have to spend all evening at his house. I am halfway down the hall, limping to my room, when I hear quick footsteps behind me. (They only remind me that no one's footsteps are as fast as Pietro's were.)

"Wanda, wait." Braxton. I whirl around, right where I stand, and he pulls up short to keep from running me down.

"What?" I sigh. I was aiming to sound impatient or even exasperated, but instead my voice conveys deep-soul weariness.

"I just-" He bites his lip. "Are you okay?"

"Not really, no." I frown up at him. "My hands hurt, I'm tired, I feel bad for making you see your worst fears over a stupid temper tantrum, I'm embarrassed that you caught me in the middle of a nightmare, I have to go to a party tonight at the home of the man I _hate_ , and…I just- I miss Pietro, alright!" I am on the verge of tears again. I might already be crying for all I know.

"I understand." He says.

"That seems to be the common response." I say, looking at the floor. "But they don't. I miss him so much. He kept me sane. I always had the drive and the plans, but he had the charisma, the wherewithal. And people tell me it's wrong to depend so much on one person, for my whole world to stop now that he's gone; they say that life goes on, but without him, I don't want to live."

"And that's okay." Braxton says with a sad smile.

"Do you think me odd?" I sniff.

"No, why?" His brow wrinkles.

"They say, all the time," I start, but he cuts me off.

"Who does?" He asks. "Who is 'They'?"

"The critics. All day on the news and talk shows after every battle. The team socializes, or answers questions, or takes photos, but I always leave. I can't bear to stay. So for the rest of the week, they speculate. They bring up Pietro's death again and again. Some say I am still grieving, others say I am not a people person. But the majority concludes that if I am not a people person, I cannot protect the people. They figure that if Pietro was truly only my brother, I would be over it."

"He was special to you." Braxton says. "What's wrong with that?"

"They think we were romantic with each other. Is disgusting. We are Eastern European, not barbarian. They say the only people who grieve this much are those who lost a husband or lover. But that is not true. Pietro was more than my brother, but not in that way. He was my twin. My other half. The soul my rage could never sustain. I loved him with everything I had, and that will never change." I sigh.

"It doesn't have to. Your memories of him are still there. And I know this sounds like an empty platitude, and I know your memories can't bring him back, but he'll always be with you." Braxton shrugs. "Trust me, I know."

"Thank you." I say.

 **Feels! So many family feels. I like this side of Wanda. She misses her brother, and she isn't afraid to say so. She's raw, hurting. It's different to write.**


	15. Well, Well What Have We Here?

**Party! I'm excited.**

 **But first, can we take a moment to notice that although Braxton dislikes Tony (for reasons yet to be disclosed) he didn't have anywhere close to the amount of inner turmoil over the party as Wanda did? Because yeah...**

"So this is a Stark party." I grin, tugging on the hem of my vest. I am wearing a light green button down buttoned all the way up, no tie, with a three piece charcoal grey suit. My hair is slicked back out of my eyes, the shaved back brushed down. It is a classic nineties look. Those were good times.

"Yep, pretty much." Pepper Potts smiles. I may not like Stark, but his girlfriend's sweet. "The Avengers' fun starts at eleven."

"Hey, don't wanna miss that right?" I laugh, swirling the drink in my hand.

"It should be fun." Pepper shrugs. "I don't usually stay. I'm not an Avenger."

"That's a shame." I say.

"Yeah." She tips her head. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Braxton."

"You too, Miss Potts." I shake her hand.

"Please, call me Pepper." She says.

"Alright, Pepper." I say. She smiles again, then moves on to other people. I down my drink in one gulp, then sit down at the bar. Natasha is the bartender. She's wearing a nice dress.

"Oh, hey, Romanoff." I grin.

"Hey, Greene." She points to my glass. "Another?"

"Sure, thanks." I shrug, pushing it towards her.

"You okay?" She says.

"Yeah, I guess." I grab the drink and toss it back. "Can I get another?"

"High tolerance; or do you just feel like getting sloppy drunk before your girlfriend gets up here?" Romanoff smiles, pouring.

"I'm an earth element. I have the power of the other elements, as well as the power of the actual earth. When you pour alcohol into the ground, the Earth doesn't get drunk. Neither do I. Unless I want to." I shrug, downing the drink and sliding Romanoff the glass again. "And I don't have a girlfriend."

"Are you saying there's no one you find attractive on the team?" Romanoff raises her brow as she pours. "Male or female. We don't judge."

"Nice to know." I grin, swishing the drink around in my mouth before swallowing, grimacing at the taste. "But I don't swing that way."

"If you say so." Romanoff shrugs. "So no one?"

"I didn't say that." I shake my head. "Can I get a bourbon, straight up?"

"Sure." She says. "Now answer the question."

"What do you want me to say? I mean, what if I had a crush on you, Romanoff?" I raise an eyebrow.

"I doubt that, Adonis." She smirks. "I'm too old for you."

"I doubt that." I smirk back. "I'm older than I look."

"So am I, Charmer." She says. "Besides, you'd have to contend with Rogers anyway."

"Trust me, I have no interest in creaming the good Captain. I don't even like you like that, Agent Romanoff. I'm just worried that I'm too old for the person that I am interested in." I drum my fingers on the bar, Romanoff eyeing me with a sardonic grin. "But on the age front, I already know how old you are. I read your file, why don't you read mine." I grab the bourbon and hop off the bar stool, leaving a slightly stunned Natasha. "Thanks."

I weave through the crowd, melting into it. I exchange greetings with Sam, fist bump Rhodey, who is in the middle of his tenth retelling of his War Machine story, and rescue the Vision (wearing regular-looking clothes for once, and looking for all the world totally out of place) from a gaggle of affluent women who were moonlighting as senseless fangirls.

I swear, one of them called him lifelike; as if he's not a living being with feelings and thoughts of his own. If I wasn't such a damn gentleman, I'd have broken some fingers. I deposit the Vision at the bar with Natasha who proceeds to launch into small talk with him. I greet Rogers, who is reminiscing with some WWII vets, and I greet Clint and Stark himself, albeit briefly on the latter.

I finally land on a comfortable chair in the corner, having replenished my drink. I lean back and heave a sigh. I think once the Avengers-only party starts, I'm gonna let the drinks soak in. All of a sudden, the group standing in the space near the door goes silent, the quiet spreading like a wave over the whole room. I stand, and make my way to the source of the reverse-disturbance.

I make my way through, some groups parting when they see me and others requiring surreptitiously thrown elbows to do the same. When I finally reach the door, I stop. It is Wanda, in a black dress that hits her knee, black flats and a red belt and bracelet. Red and black really _are_ her colors. Her hair is pinned into an up do that leaves a few stray strands of faintly curly reddish brown hair wisping around her face.

"Wow, Wanda." I breathe. "You look great."

"You do not look so bad yourself." She lilts, but I notice the color that creeps up the back of her neck, staining it and the tips of her ears bright red.

"Thank you." I grin, and I notice that she smiles at the phrase she's said too many times to count this past week.

 **Awww. So sweet. This is my favorite chapter so far, but I'm not exactly objective...**

 **Anyway, there are like three more chapters of partying, so I'll be back next week.**

 **Read, review, enjoy, and be breezy.**


	16. Ain't No Party Like a 'Vengers' Party

**Part two of the party! I like this chap. We've got some nice games along with a bit of subtle backstory. Enjoy!**

It's eleven, and Stark has finally gotten every non-Avenger out of his tower.

"Alright." He rubs his hands together. "It's party time. What do you guys wanna do?"

"Truth or Dare." Rhodes suggests.

"No, we always play that and Seven Minutes in Heaven." Sam rolls his eyes.

"Fine then, let's play the Great Wind Blows." Romanoff says. "I'll call it."

"What game is this?" Wanda asks.

"The Great Wind Blows is a moving game." Romanoff grins. "One person stands in the middle, in this case, me. I call out something that applies to me too. For instance, I might say, "The Great Wind Blows for all those who are wearing underwear."

Rhodes snorts at that, and Romanoff continues with a roll of her eyes.

"If you're wearing underwear, you get up and try to switch seats with someone. You can pre-plan with eye contact. If you're not wearing underwear, you stay seated and more power to you. You can't switch with the person next to you. They have to be at least two seats away. I am also trying to get a seat, which is why the statement has to apply to me too. It's supposed to be a big conspiracy. You're not supposed to let the caller sit down. If you end up with no seat, you're the new caller, got it?"

"Cool." Clint says. "So…we need chairs, then?"

"Yeah. Everybody down from the loft, there's more space and chairs below us." Stark says. We all jack ourselves up and head down to the open space under the loft. Clint, Rogers, Sam, Vision and I move the chairs into a giant circle, and everyone sits down.

"Alright, everybody ready?" Romanoff smirks. "It's also an icebreaker, by the way. Okay, the Great Wind Blows for all those who drink coffee."

Barton and I make eye contact at the exact same instant and we switch lightning fast, a step ahead of the others. Rogers goes to switch with Sam while Rhodes and Stark both jump up, but in the ensuing jumble of limbs in the circle's center, Romanoff ends up in Rogers' almost-seat.

"Not cool, 'Tasha." Rogers frowns.

"Aww, it's okay, Stevie." She smirks. "Call it."

"Fine. The Great Wind Blows for all those who fight with weapons instead of powers." Rogers says. I slide out of my seat, switching with Sam and Rhodes gets stranded in the center.

"Geez. Unfair." He huffs. "The Great Wind Blows for all those who like cheese."

I switch with Rogers. And Sam ends up in the middle.

"Seriously, no one else likes cheese?" Sam grouses. "Alright, the Great Wind Blows for all those who fly with sweet tech."

Sam steals Stark's prospective seat, landing him in the middle.

"Dammit." Stark swears.

"Cap doesn't like that type of language, Tony." Rhodes cackles.

"Shut up." Stark rolls his eyes. "The Great Wind Blows for all those who have had more than five drinks." I stand and Stark stumbles into my seat.

"More than five?" Rogers raises his eyebrows. "What, super metabolism?"

"I wish." I grin. "I can get drunk, it just takes more. And if I don't wanna get drunk at all, I can drink Thor into oblivion."

"Cool." Sam says.

"Aww, thanks, buddy." I smirk. "'Kay, the Great Wind Blows for all those who are alive."

Everyone leaps up and scrambles for a seat. Sam trips me for my snark, and I steal the seat he was about to grab. Elbows are thrown, the Vision phases into a nearby seat and eventually everyone is sitting except Wanda.

"The Great Wind Blows for all those who speak three or more languages." She smiles.

I jab Rogers in the stomach grabbing a seat, Vision floats calmly into Steve's seat and Clint is left up in the middle.

"Aww, man." He frowns. "The Great Wind Blows for all those who want to play another game."

"What do you suggest then, Clinton?" Natasha asks.

"How about Never Have I Ever." Clint grins dangerously. "Hardcore edition."

"Alright, everybody back up to the loft." Stark says. We file back up. Natasha grabs a bottle of Russian Vodka on her way to her seat. I shed my jacket and vest, and Stark passes me a large, intricately carved flask along with a bottle partly filled with clear liquid.

"What's this?" I say.

"The flask is Asgardian mead and the bottle is my own personal moonshine. One sip will blow your mind." Stark grins.

"Yeah, right." I snort.

"Seriously. Fill the bottle the rest of the way with Mead, then pass the flask to Rogers." Stark says. "See how long it takes tonight."

"Whatever." I say, but I pour it in anyway. "Okay, I'll go first."

"Alright." Clint says. "You know the rules. If you haven't, don't drink; if you have, double. Play goes to the left."

"Got it." I breathe. "Never have I ever collected anything." I sniff at Stark's drink. It's awful-smelling. Steve, Stark, Sam, Rhodes, Vision and surprisingly, Clint drink. "Hmm. I didn't figure that combo."

"My turn." Rogers says from my left. "Never have I ever mooned anyone."

"Oooh, getting risqué aren't we?" Stark croons before gulping down some Scotch. I grimace and drink, much to Rhodes amusement, as does Sam.

"Really, you, Sam?" I laugh.

"It was one time." He mumbles.

"My turn." Rhodes chortles. "Never have I ever jumped off a roof without a parachute or operational suit, for recreational or escape purposes."

I drink, Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Wanda follow.

"I get Assassination with Friends over there, and even Captain Big Entrance, but why you and little Red?" Stark asks.

"I was running from a gang." I laugh. "It's actually how I found out I could fly."

"Pietro stole food from a market and the owner's hired gun chased us all over the city until we jumped." Wanda says quietly, with that small smile she reserves for her brother's memory.

"Wow." Sam nods. "Sounds gripping. Okay. Never have I ever kissed a super hero."

"In what way?" I ask.

"Any way." He shrugs. "Romantic or platonic."

"Oh." I drink, the Vision ducks his head and sips twice, Rogers drinks with a blush, Clint tosses his back with a bit of a shudder, Romanoff drinks with a smirk, Stark drinks, and so does Wanda; borrowing a bit of Rogers' blush.

"Oooh, which hero, Wanda?" Sam grins. Wanda smiles sweetly and calls him a dirty name in Russian, which makes Natasha snort and Clint nearly choke on his drink.

"My turn." Stark grins. "Never have I ever done anybody on an actual bed."

"Kinky." Natasha rolls her eyes and takes a drink. "That's actually pretty surprising considering how many people you've done. You'd think you'd make it to a bed at some point…"

Clint laughs and drinks, Rogers drinks ("Really, Captain Virginity?" Stark exclaims.), Sam and Rhodes gulp down some of their drinks and so do I. the Vision doesn't, non-surprisingly. Wanda doesn't either, though.

"You a virgin, little Red?" Stark smirks.

"I fail to see how that is your business." Wanda says; her deadly calm reminiscent of Natasha's. "But since you're positively wriggling with curiosity, no I'm not."

"And you've never done it in a bed?" Stark continues.

"Hydra does not hef beds." She says flatly, her accent thickening with each word. "They hef cots. Someone in next dorm over threw their back out doing it on cot. Idiot. Of course, they were well over forty, but still; one must hef more sense. They were thrown out of experiment, which is nice way of saying they are dead. They become inside joke and example of what not to do. So no one else risk it."

"Whoa." Rhodes swallows hard.

"So where did people do it?" Sam swirls his drink nonchalantly.

"Does it matter?" Wanda shrugs. "On floor, or wall, in closet, in bathroom, wherever."

"And you call me kinky, Natashalie." Stark giggles.

"It is my turn." The Vision says. "Never have I ever been to a play on Broadway."

I drink, Natasha drinks, Clint drinks and Stark chugs.

"You've never been to Broadway, Steve?" Stark asks. "That's part of the embodiment of American essence."

"Screw you." Rogers sighs.

"Oooh, Cap said a bad language word." Stark snickers.

"Oh, shut up, Stark." Natasha sighs. "It's my turn. You're drunk anyway." Yeah, he is, and I'm starting down that road. "Alright, never have I ever been to Hobby Lobby." She smiles.

Clint, Sam, Rhodes, Vision and I drink.

"Awww, my little crafters." Natasha croons.

"It was one time." I huff. "It was a dare."

"I like Hobby Lobby." Sam mutters. "I'm still a _man_ …"

"I was curious as to the purpose of that particular establishment." The Vision says.

"I'll bet." Clint snorts. "I went to buy foam paintbrushes and safety pins. Now, never have I ever punched someone in the throat."

"That's a lie!" Natasha points at Clint. "I've seen you do it."

"No, I karate chop people in the throat and punch them in the **neck**." Clint corrects.

Wanda drinks. Everyone stares.

"What?" She shrugs. "Pietro wanted me to hit a man who was bothering me, and that's all I could reach."

Sam shakes his head. "That's a dick move."

I drink.

"You too?" Sam raises his eyebrows.

"What?" I shrug too. "It makes them cry quicker. I'd hit them in the balls, but if anything, _that's_ a dick move. I'm a guy, that's uncool."

"Y'all suck." Sam rolls his eyes.

"Thank you." Wanda says. "Never have I ever gotten a tattoo."

Natasha drinks, Clint drinks, and so do I.

"Where's yours, Natashalie?" Stark slurs.

"On my back." She shrugs. "It was a fake one, for a mission. I liked it, so afterwards; I decided to get it for real. It's a spider. I thought it fit."

"How about you, Katniss?" Stark grins.

"A little quiver on my shoulder blade." Clint yawns.

"Figures." Stark looks at me. "And you?"

"I've got four." I say.

"You're an artistic canvas!" Clint pipes with mock drama. "A true inspiration to us all!"

"Shut up." I roll my eyes. "One's a Victoria Cross, over my heart. I've got 'The Leveller' in elvish runes, y'know like Lord of the Rings, across my back, I've got "Royalty" on my wrist, and I've got this," I unbutton my shirt collar and show them the blue broken heart on the back of my neck. "For my little boy. He's, uh…he's gone."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry." Sam says.

"It's okay." I nod. "I'm better now."

"Good." Rogers says. "Now what?"

"Let's play React and Act." Sam grins.

"React and Act?" The Vision cocks his head.

"What is this, then?" Wanda asks. She eyes her drink suspiciously. "Please don't let it be a drinking game."

"It's always a drinking game!" Stark calls from where he is sprawled across an ottoman.

"If I drink any more, I will revert to first language." Wanda huffs.

"I didn't know you were such a lightweight." Clint teases.

"You would too." She retorts defensively.

"Maybe, but my first language is English; so, ha!" Clint crows triumphantly.

"Shut up." She groans.

"Sorry, Wanda, it's a drinking game." Sam says. "For this one everybody writes something that makes them freak out on a slip of paper. We put them in a bowl or hat and when it's your turn you pick one. Then, you have to act out what you would do if the thing on the slip of paper happened. Everyone else has to guess what you're reacting to. Wrong guess drinks. Once we've guessed, whoever got it right gets to try to guess who wrote the clue. If you guess right twice, you chug. If you guess wrong, you just drink and it's the next person's turn to guess. If someone else gets the second one right but not the first, it's their turn. Got it?"

"Sounds fun." Rogers shrugs. "We need a hat."

"I got it." I say, shaking out my hands. "What kind?"

"A top hat, if you've got one." Sam says.

"Okay." I draw an oval in the air, surrounded by a bigger oval and draw a rectangle under the first oval. I close my eyes briefly, concentrating on a hat being in my hands. A second later, I feel a weight in my palms and there is a black top hat in my hands. "There you go."

"I never quite get over that." Natasha shakes her head with a smirk. "Every time in training."

"It is quite impressive." The Vision smiles slightly.

"No kidding." Clint gapes.

"Alright, everybody get two slips of paper and let's do this." Sam grabs eight pieces of paper ripping them in half.

 **Anyone catch the jab I made at all the Avengers' party oneshots where they play Seven minutes in Heaven? If you did, please feel free to call me a terrible person for insulting other stories. XD**

 **If you didn't...I dunno what to say. I guess you can go back and find it in there. Lol. Please drop a review. These party chapters will be the longest in the story. See you guys next week. BYE!**


	17. See, What Had Happened Was

**Party part three! That rhymes.**

 **Drunk!Avengers, karaoke, mild stripping, and old songs, because I love Etta James, and I'm a firm believer that Natasha is older than people think.**

Wanda's POV

We are on our third round of truth or dare. We played React and Act, four rounds of Sardines, A game called Mafia suggested by Braxton, and now that everyone is too sloppy drunk to have good ideas, we are back to truth or dare. I heard Clint ask Friday to film the gameplay when the Avengers-only party first started. I think that may become a problem.

It has been an interesting evening, to say the least. In this round alone, the Captain and Agent Romanoff have made out, Sam has flown around Manhattan in only his underwear and wings, Clint has shot Braxton in the same knee twice, the Vision has phased through a refrigerator, and Stark has drunk nearly everything in the bar.

"Wanda, truth or dare?" Stark asks. It is my turn, and for the past two rounds, everyone has quite obviously been trying to get Braxton and me together. I'm not that drunk yet. Close, but not yet. Not that he isn't positively gorgeous; I just don't want to hurt him. Everyone thinks louder when they're drunk; maybe it's just that my natural shield is down. I can hear everyone's thoughts. It's like getting used to my powers all over again…

"Wanda!" Clint calls, giggling. "She's wasted."

"Am not!" I snap. I can hear Stark's thoughts. If I say truth, it will be something about Braxton. If I say dare, it will still be something about Braxton. "Truth."

"Aww, you're no fun…Gus." Stark slurs. "'Kay, do you find anyone attractive in this room? And if so, who?"

"Is two questions." I say frowning at Stark's fuzzy outline.

"I went easy on you last time." He retorts.

"Fine." I snap. "Yes I find people in this room attractive…in this room." I gulp from my glass, my vision blurring and fuzzing horribly.

"And who?" Stark prompts.

"Does not matter." I sigh and Braxton removes the rest of my drink from my hand and tosses it back.

"Ugh, what the hell was that?" He grimaces.

"Dunno." I shake my head, liking how it feels when I shake it fast.

"Hey, little Red," Stark waves his hands. "Who do you like?"

"Not you." I hiccup quietly. "Him." I gesture indiscriminately at Braxton, who blessedly, isn't paying attention. He's squinting into my glass, probably trying to figure out what it was he just drank. I think it was the remains of Natasha's Vodka along with some…I dunno. I wasn't really paying attention.

"I knew it!" Stark jumps up and his knees almost immediately buckle.

"Is my turn." I breathe. "Sam, truth or dare?"

"Oh, what the hell, dare?" Sam tosses his hands up and gulps down the rest of his drink.

"Okay," I squint at him. "I dare you to chug beer in under twenty seconds."

"Fine." Sam grabs a beer and pops the cap, raising it in a silent toast.

"Go!" I shout. He is finished in sixteen seconds. He lets out a huge belch at the end, having the apparent good grace to look embarrassed.

"'Scuse me." He grins. "Braxton, truth or dare?"

"Dare." He sounds almost bored.

"Alright, I dare you to do a strip routine to Can't Sleep Love by Pentatonix." Sam grins impishly.

"Fine, whatever." Braxton stands and stretches. "You got the song?"

"Of course." Sam smirk and digs his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through what I can presume is his music list. Braxton draws a fedora in the air and puts it on his head, sliding his suspenders off of his shoulders.

The introduction plays and Braxton hangs his head, and as the first verse starts he snaps his head up, pop locking to the beat. A crooked smile adorns his face, totally adding to the heat. The hook plays and he peels his shirt off, rolling his hips. As the chorus plays, he leans side to side slowly; swinging his shirt around then goes back to first position for the second verse pop locking all over again.

The hook plays again and he rips his undershirt off, grinding on nothing. His abs are impeccable. Stark whistles loudly, as Braxton goes into a complicated dance step for the second chorus and tosses his hat to Natasha with a wink. He turns to me for the bridge swaying half-time and dances behind my chair for the last chorus, finishing by rolling over the back of the chair into his old seat.

"Wow." Clint says. "I didn't know you could do that."

"It's not common knowledge." Braxton shrugs.

"You a pro?" Stark asks.

"I may or may not have done some stripping way back when." Braxton slides his thumbnail under the cuticle of his third finger. "Okay, Natasha, truth or dare?"

"Dare." She grins.

"I dare you to draw Stark's outline on the wall in knives." Braxton smiles, gulping down some of Agent Romanoff's secret stash vodka. Let's just say it took all the knives on her person (quite a few, unsurprisingly) along with another whole case of throwing knives she had stashed. Stark cried.

"Alright, Steve." Natasha grins now that she is finished. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare?" He says warily, glaring at Stark, newly liberated from his knife outline. "Last time I picked truth, _somebody_ asked me if I've ever gone commando in my suit."

"Oopsies." Stark laughs softly. "It's not my fault you don't wear underwear in your tights."

"It was ONE TIME!" Cap huffs dramatically.

"Alright then," Romanoff smiles. "I dare you to outdrink Braxton."

"You do know I can't get drunk?" Rogers scoffs.

"I wanna see you try to outdrink me, Cap." Braxton says, grabbing assorted bottles from behind the bar, including some vodka, more of Stark's moonshine, Thor's Asgardian alcohol, and Everclear. Sam sets out two shot glasses and pours some vodka in both.

"Ready, boys?" Romanoff asks. "Go!"

Braxton throws back his shot quickly, reaching for the vodka. He takes two more shots before abandoning it for the Everclear. Meanwhile, Captain Rogers throws back his shot and tastes the Everclear. Having nearly gagged, he exchanges bottles with Braxton, both men abandoning their glasses in favor of drinking straight from the bottles. Braxton demolishes the Everclear first, moving on to the mead. Rogers finishes the vodka a second later and guzzles down some of Stark's brew. Less than five minutes later, they have gone through all the bottles on the table.

Rogers calls for a bathroom break, swaying slightly as he stands, before the serum burns through the alcohol. While Rogers is gone, Braxton drains the dregs from the flask of mead.

"I think I'm gonna let Rogers win." Braxton shrugs, gulping down a glass of water. "Now's a good a time as ever to start getting drunk for real."

After Rogers returns, gulping down a glass of rum ("Yo-Ho-Ho!" Stark crows.) Braxton drains a bottle of whiskey slowly, then follows it with a half container of bourbon. He hiccups and looks around, green eyes over-bright.

"Made it!" He giggles, wiping his mouth on his arm. "You win, Sleeve."

"You okay, buddy?" Rogers asks, not at all affected.

"I'm incredible." Braxton slurs. "Let's do karaoke-dokee."

"I got a karaoke machine for this express purpose." Stark grins, pointing into the corner. There's a platform in aforementioned corner, sporting a first rate karaoke machine. "FRIDAY, lights? Who wants to go first?"

"I'll go first." Romanoff smirks, mounting the platform. "FRIDAY, Sunday Kind of Love, please."

"Yes, Agent Romanoff." FRIDAY's brogue fills the air, followed by the first sounds of Etta James iconic song.

"I want a Sunday kind of love,

A love to last past Saturday night.

And I'd like to know

It's more than love at first sight.

And I want a Sunday kind of love

Oh yeah, yeah."

Romanoff sways back and forth.

"I want a, a love that's on the square,

Can't seem to find somebody;

Someone to care.

And I'm on a lonely road,

That leads to nowhere."

The interval plays slowly.

"I need a Sunday kind of love."

The music indicating the bridge plays and I close my eyes. This is one of my favorite songs.

"I do my Sunday dreaming, oh yeah,

And all my Sunday scheming;

Every minute, every hour, every day.

Oh, I'm hoping to discover,

A certain kind of lover;

Who will show me the way."

"And my arms need someone,

Someone to enfold;

She takes a breath and Rogers sighs happily. She really has a beautiful voice.

To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold.

Love for all my life to have and to hold.

Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love,

Oh yeah, yeah, yeah;

I don't want a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday,

Or Thursday, Friday or Saturday,

Oh nothing but Sunday, oh yeah

I want a Sunday, Sunday

I want a Sunday kind of love, oh yeah

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday kind of love."

Romanoff finishes and the outro plays.

"That was great." I sigh.

 **Read, review, and come back for next week. I think this is the official longest chapter. (And the official shortest A/N, lol)**


	18. The Last Straw

**So...I'm not even sure what happened here. It's part four of the party; the last part, and everyone is so drunk it's not even funny. But it is funny, so that's why I wrote it. Read, Review, enjoy, and all that.**

My head spins, making me feel like I'm not quite on the ground. I'm not sure if I like the feeling. It is Wanda's turn. She has just started singing Just For Now.

"How did you know?

It's what I always wanted

Could never have had too many of these."

She sings it softly, just like Imogen Heap.

"Will you, quit kicking me under the table!

I'm trying; will somebody make her shut up about it?

Can we settle down please?"

She smiles through the chorus, which alerts me to the fact that my mouth is open.

"It's that time of year

Leave all our hopelessness's aside

If just for a little while;

Tears stop right here

I know we've all had a bumpy ride.

I'm secretly on your side."

She taps her foot.

"Bite tongue,

Deep breaths,

Count to ten,

Nod your head."

She closes her eyes, letting the music carry her. Her voice makes me want to just sit still. I could listen to her sing forever.

"I think something is burning

Now you've ruined the whole thing

Muffle the smoke alarm;

Whoever put on this music?

Better quick sharp remove it

Pour me another

Oh, don't wag your finger at me."

When she sings, her accent softens down to barely there; present enough to be hot, but not overpowering. Beautiful.

"It's that time of year

Leave all our hopelessness's aside

If just for a little while;

Tears stop right here

I know we've all had a bumpy ride.

I'm secretly on your side."

The final part plays and I breathe softer, not wanting to miss it.

"Get me outta here,

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here;

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here;

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here;

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here,

Get me outta here;

Just for love

Just for love."

"Wow, Wanda." Sam breathes. "You're good."

She is. I am speechless with the beauty of the moment.

"Thank you." She smiles slightly. It is now Rhodes' turn. He sings Bills, Bills, Bills by Destiny's Child, much to Stark's amusement. Next, Sam goes, singing I'm Not the Only One by Sam Smith. (The irony of the two Sams doesn't escape us.) Rogers sings through You Make Me Feel So Young by Frank Sinatra with a smile on his face directed solely at Romanoff.

The Vision sings Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran at Stark's behest; his British accent really making it great, and Clint rocks out Classic by MKTO. Stark screams through Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi, and when it is my turn, I sing We Are Young by Fun.

That song just puts everyone in a trash-the-tower mood, and since it's like three A.M. and everyone's completely wasted, we just follow the song's advice. We party hard because we're all reasonably young. Young enough to party, at least. Stark ends up heaving up his guts in a corner, Natasha shoots a few holes in the ceiling (even though she doesn't _do_ drunk), I draw random objects in the air and bet with Sam and Rhodes on how many throws they will take to break.

Wanda seems caught between laughing and crying. Laughing appears to win the day, and once Stark is done barfing, we all belt out We Are Young again. At the conclusion of that crazy-fest, Stark directs us to rooms in the Tower, because we are way too toasted to drive back to the compound. I already know I'll have one hell of a headache in the morning, so I pour myself a shot of whiskey on my way upstairs. I shatter the glass on the ground, the way Rogers said Thor did when he first arrived in Midgard.

"Enough!" I shout and everyone laughs, too smashed to care that it was a shit joke. Once I am in the room that is mine for the night, I flip off my shoes, faceplant in my designated bed and sleep, even as the sun creeps over the horizon.

 **So can anyone guess what songs I like to listen to?**

 **Bye!**


	19. A Proposition

**DOUBLE UPDATE! Here's the after. Can you spell hangover? For some reason, I love writing hungover!fighting!Avengers. Lmao. Enjoy the double update, and next chap we'll talk business.**

Wanda's POV

"Ugh, make it stop." I groan. Captain Rogers, fully bedecked in his blue spandex, has just pulled the blinds open and the sun streaming though intensifies tenfold.

"We've gotta get back to the training facility." He says, nonplussed.

"It is only…four-thirty in the afternoon." I say, blinking at the clock on the bedside table. "Alright, I am coming."

"Good." Rogers smiles, like he didn't just jerk me awake by providing me with a blinding headache. "There's, uh, coffee, Advil, that type of hangover stuff on the kitchen counter, if that's your thing."

"Alright." I stretch. "Just out of curiosity, is there something going on? You are wearing your suit."

"We have a mission." He says, putting on his serious face.

"Oh." I say. "I will be down in a few minutes."

"Good." He smiles again and leaves the room. I jump out of bed, brush my teeth, shower quickly, dress in my red jacket, black combat boots, a black blouse and skirt (I always fight in skirts, I don't really know why) and brush my hair, leaving it free around my face. I thunder down the stairs, even though each step makes my head hurt more.

Everyone is downstairs except for Stark and Clint. I assume Clint went back home. Stark is most likely asleep, especially after that party. I pour myself a cup of coffee and take an Advil with it. The dose is two, but when I was young, we had no medicine to take. We had to become very good at ignoring pain, so now, even though my head is pounding in time with my heart, I know this one capsule will ease the pain in minutes.

"What is that?" I frown at Rhodes' cup.

"This is Tony's famous hangover cure." He gestures to the cup. "It tastes like shit, but I take it because if anyone can make up an effective hangover cure, it's Tony. That man's had more hangovers than I can even count."

"No kidding." Sam snorts, gulping down some coffee.

"How'd you sleep?" Braxton says quietly, swirling the coffee in his mug, searching my face. _No nightmares?_ He says in my head.

"I slept fine." I say, because it is true.

 _You ready for this?_ He cocks his head.

 _I certainly hope so._ I smile.

"If you two are done being weird, it's time for the mission briefing." Natasha smirks. She, the Captain and the Vision are the only ones who aren't hungover. Braxton probably is, but he looks like he's doing pretty well at forcing past it.

"I believe everyone is ready, Agent Romanoff." The Vision says. He is back in his armor and cape today.

"Alright." Rogers says. "Basically, we found another Hydra base. It's in the Amazon rain forest, there was nothing otherworldly happening there, no human experiments, but the problem is, it's the weaponry headquarters. The security is impeccable, the firepower is top of the line, and there may or may not be missiles inside."

"Sounds fun." Braxton drones. "What's the plan?"

The plan?" Rogers cocks an eyebrow. "Take down the base, confiscate the weapons, and try not to blow ourselves and the forest sky-high."

"Nice plan, Cap." Sam chortles into his cup.

"We'll head back to the compound to get our gear, and then we'll take a quinjet out there." Romanoff says. "Avengers, let's move."

We move to go, but Cap holds Braxton back.

"Here's your suit." Captain Rogers hands Braxton an armful of forest green cloth, a brown utility belt, brown boots, and a long-handled, sturdy battleax. "Stark made it to your specifications, and the ax was fireproofed as well."

"Thanks." Braxton says. We all load onto a Quinjet, and fly to the compound. When we land, we all split up. I return first, wearing the contact lenses a SHIELD techie designed with built in cameras, along with my black fingerless gloves, to see that the Vision never left. Captain Rogers returns next with his shield, Agent Romanoff is next, wearing her catsuit and hooking up her Widow Bytes. Sam comes after, adjusting the straps of his wing pack, goggles dangling from his fingers.

Colonel Rhodes clanks onto the Quinjet in his War Machine armor and Braxton comes last, wearing a green suit similar to Captain Rogers except instead of stars and stripes on his midriff, Braxton has a brown armor-like piece encompassing his torso. His utility belt is filled with first aid and emergency supplies. His boots are soft leather; the knee height hunter-type. He wears brown leather fingerless gauntlets and the left one has grips so he can hold his ax, which has 'The Leveller' in runes branded on the handle.

"Everybody ready?" Agent Romanoff calls, settling into the cockpit.

"We're good, Tasha." Captain Rogers says. "Alright, guys…and girls, we're gonna divide the Hydra base into quadrants, North, South, East, and West. We've got four flyers, Falcon, Vision, War Machine, and the Leveller, and we've got three ground forces, me, Black Widow and Scarlet Witch. Vision, you're Wanda's partner, Sam, you're mine, Rhodes, you're Natasha's. Braxton, since there are only three ground forces, Natasha and I will be covering three quadrants together. We're gonna need you to be the eyes in the air on our joint quadrant, as well as the first responding ground force if we're busy. Can you do that?"

"Got it, Cap." Braxton grins.

"Good." Captain Rogers smiles. "Guys, I'm proud of you no matter what the outcome is. You've been great in training, and your team skills have improved. This base is important, but covering each other's backs is even more important. Do your best, and we'll win this thing."

"Sounds like we're gonna go play football or something." Sam says.

"Well, we've got it covered either way." The Captain shrugs.

The rest of the journey is spent recalling the party last night and snoozing intermittently. I can't possibly do either. I am ready to take down some Hydra. The flight is long, but it is only half the time it would take in a commercial jet. We are there by sunup. The sun is creeping over the horizon when we touch down in the rainforest. We hook up our coms, testing the connection; then we unload onto the forest floor. The air is thick, warm and wet.

"Ugh." Natasha wrinkles her nose. "Where's the base?"

"It's this way." Captain Rogers points into the foggy distance. We walk for maybe twenty minutes before the base comes into sight. Sam unfurls his wings, and grabs Captain Rogers, taking off; Rhodes offers Natasha a hand up, which she takes and he puts his boosters on slowly, then all at once. Braxton elevates slowly, then starts flying like he was shot out of a cannon. The Vision scoops me up the way he did that day in Sokovia and floats calmly to our quadrant.

"Thank you." I say once he has set me down.

"You are welcome." He smiles, then rises into the air.

America: **Everybody good?**

Vision: **East is clear.**

Falcon: **South's clear.**

Machine: **West's clear.**

Leveller: **And North is awesome on this fine morning.**

America: **Well, good then. Keep your eyes peeled; there should be some action anytime now. It's time for their morning patrols. Keep your coms lines open, so if you can't touch it, we can still hear you.**

Witch: **Got it.**

Widow: **'Kay Cappie.**

A truck rumbles in the distance, heading towards me.

Vision: **I have sighted some hostiles, be on your guard, Wanda, they are coming your way.**

Witch: **Thank you.**

The truck is only a short distance away; I can see it coming now. I form a ball of red energy and throw it at the front hood of the truck. The entire front crumples in and the truck flips forward. The two Hydra foot soldiers inside of the vehicle let out cries of surprise and jump out of the truck's doorless sides.

One whips his head around, spotting me, while the other soldier cries something into his walkie-talkie. The first soldier; a tall, burly fellow comes at me. Luckily I have been to Agent Romanoff's school of Girl Power, attending her How-to-beat-the-snot-out-of-a-large-male-assailiant-and-still-remain-a-total-BAMF class. Soon the larger man is on the ground unconscious and twitching vaguely. The other man looks at me and takes off running the opposite way. I send a sphere of energy after him and it hits him square in the back. I hear his spine crack and he falls.

Captain Rogers grunts loudly, over the coms, followed by a distinct thwacking sound.

America: **Thanks a lot, Wanda; they're all over us now.**

Witch: **Since that was the whole point of the mission, I am going to pretend that wasn't sarcastically said. You are welcome, Captain. God bless America.**

Machine: **(laughing) She told you!**

America: **Oh, shut (thwack) up!**

Witch: **I think one of the men that were here gave a signal through his communicator.**

Leveller: **I heard it…**

Witch: **Do you know what he said?**

Leveller: **It was in Portuguese, which figures. We are in Brazil, after all. It sounded like he said, 'grey skies at five o'clock', but that makes no sense. Unless it was a code, then that sounds about… (Faint jet noises) Aww, crap. They've got jets!**

Widow: **Can you out…fly it?**

Leveller: **I think so, hold on- (Jet noises increasing in volume)**

Falcon: **I've got eyes on the base itself. I got tanks heading your way, Cap. I see dudes on foot coming at Romanoff, more jets coming to Braxton and a couple heading for Rhodes, and they're sending trucks in Wanda's direction.**

Witch: **I can hear them. Stupid fog.**

Leveller: **Okay, bad news! I'm literally invisible, I've changed direction three times, and I've already doubled back! They've gotta have some sort of heat-seeking tech on these bad boys, 'cause this is ridiculous. (Machine gun fire) Aw, shit they're shooting!**

Machine and Falcon simultaneously: **Language!**

Leveller: **Oh,** ** _Shut up_** **!**

America: **Can you handle it?**

Leveller: **I think so. I'm bulletproof, so… (Loud muffled clanging) DIE! (Sighs) Sorry 'bout that. But even if I couldn't hack this, there's no way I'm putting a non-bulletproof Avenger in this mess.**

Widow: **We admire your sacrifice. Now stop being stupid. If you need help, tell somebody.**

I chortle as the first three trucks rattles my way. Armed men jump out, and I make their trucks explode. They open fire and I throw a shield up, the bullets ricocheting off the surface.

America: **What was that? Please tell me that wasn't one of us spontaneously combusting.**

Witch **: Sorry. That was me. I was just making trucks explode. The good news is; these men are trapped here without means of retreat.**

Machine: **So what's the bad news?**

Witch: **The bad news is their bullets were on their person. I have got a shield up, but I do not feel like they will be running out of ammunition anytime soon.**

America: **You got it covered, or do you need the Vision on the ground?**

Vision: **I am previously occupied eliminating jets, but if Miss Maximoff requires assistance, I would be happy to help.**

Leveller: **Please don't leave me up here. No offense Wanda, because you know if you need help, I'll be there, but I'm in mildly mortal peril and Vizh frying jets is saving my butt. (Gunshots) Shit! QUIT FREAKIN' SHOOTING AT ME! I'M BULLETPROOF, IDIOTS! (Loud clanging)**

Widow: **Are you cutting the jets down with your ax?**

Leveller: **…Among other things…**

America: **Wanda,** ** _are you okay_** **?**

Witch: **I am fine for now, Captain. I wouldn't want Braxton's butt to remain in mortal peril.**

Falcon: **Oh, man. I don't know how I'm supposed to fight with y'all crackin' jokes on coms. (Gunshots)**

Witch: **I was not joking.**

The men are still shooting at me and I don't know what I'm going to do. I've never attempted to throw energy and make a shield at the same time, but today is as good a time to attempt it as any. I breathe deep and form a ball of energy with one hand, the other arm still in shield position. The ball forms, shaky, but still present and I concentrate on passing it through the shield.

It goes through, blasting a large hole in the ground, and the men scatter, leaping to the sides or hitting the deck. A good few of them get incinerated. I can't believe it worked, but I am now tired.

Witch: **They are now gone.**

Leveller: **Are you good? You sound kinda weak.**

Witch: **Are you alright? You sound winded.**

 _Don't dodge the question._ Braxton's voice floats through my head and I can almost feel its sternness.

 _I am fine, really._ I answer back along the link. _You shouldn't dodge questions either._

 _I'm good._ I can hear his laughter in my head.

Widow: **Stop. (Thwack) Being, (Pained, breathless grunt from a third-party) WEIRD!**

Machine: **Stop beating people in between each word.**

Widow: **Watch it, War Machine; or you're next. Don't think I can't reach you just because you're in the air.**

Falcon: **Oooh…. (Gunshots)**

I walk forward, my shield moving with me. I focus in on their guns, and I make them implode, ruining them. I let the shield down and the men immediately attack. I punch, kick and throw red energy left and right. All the men are down except two and one grabs me from behind. I head-butt him with the back of my skull and he crumples. The other man pulls a small gun out of his coat and shoots me, first in my shoulder, then in my side. The pain burns through me like fire and I fall.

My assailant turns to run, but before he can get away, I rip him in half with my magic, his blood spattering the trees around us. After I drop the two halves of the corpse, I lay my head back against the ground. I can't move my left arm, my side is nearly numb, and all I can think is PAINPAINOUCHHURTINGPAINPAINPAINICAN'TEVENBREATHE. It feels ten thousand times worse than it did when Pietro died. It brings tears to my eyes to imagine this being the last thing my brother felt before he died.

 _Braxton?_ I think, because it hurts too much to even try to speak. _I need your help._

 _What's wrong?_ He responds back almost immediately. I can almost taste the panic he's feeling.

 _I need your help._ I repeat in my head. I can't even concentrate enough to form another sentence. I can't black out. The team needs me. I can't black out. I am losing blood fast. Against the color of my blouse, it looks like I am just wet, but it is blood. I can't black out. I am not in the Vision's line of sight and I am too weak to talk, so Braxton is the only one I can contact.

Leveller: **Vision, can you switch quadrants with me? I need to talk to Wanda something.**

America: **Can't you just say it over coms? (Explosion)**

Leveller: **Not particularly, no.**

Machine: **He wants to ask her out. (Machine gun fire, followed by muffled explosions)**

Leveller: **Do not. It's just really important, and private.**

Widow: **Why don't you just talk over your creepy mind link?**

Leveller: **It's not creepy, and this is a face to face type of thing. Please, Vizh?**

America: **Fine. Vision, switch with him. This better not interfere with the battle.**

Leveller: **It won't.** **Thanks.**

Next thing I know, Braxton touches down in front of me, slipping his coms into one of his pouches.

"Oh, no! Wanda, what happened to you?" He says.

"Shot." I choke out quietly. "Twice."

"I'm taking you to the quinjet." His face hardens.

"No. Team needs me…" I shift uncomfortably, and my shoulder screams at the movement.

"Not like this, they don't." He scoops me up, gently. "Lucky the jet's in this quadrant, huh?"

"Can't leave…" I trail off, winded from trying to convince Braxton to let me stay.

Falcon: **We're in the base, Cap.**

America: **Good, what's there?**

Vision: **Nothing.**

"We're going." He flies through the rainforest quickly, but steadily. When the quinjet is in sight, he touches down and starts walking over. We are maybe ten feet away, when armed Hydra soldiers file out of nowhere and aim guns at us.

"Avengers, hands up." The lead officer orders, his gun and German accent pointed straight at us.

Braxton sets me down on the ground gently and slowly, eyes on the soldiers, and waves his hand over me as they open fire on him. A clear shield made of some kind of rock forms a dome over me and Braxton bursts into flames. He swings his ax through the group, hacking and rending. Rocks fly up from the ground and rain down on the assembly. Vines strangle soldiers and a well-placed stream of my red energy joins Braxton's wind gusts, fire spouts and ice missiles.

Suddenly a fresh contingent pours out of the trees around us, picking up where the others left off. Braxton turns off the fire in his right hand, fumbling with his coms for a second before it finally makes it into his ear.

America: **The Vision and Sam are in the base, and they say it's empty.**

Machine: **We know how they feel. There's no one here either.**

Leveller: **Then by all means, (** He kicks a Hydra goon in the face… **) join the party at the Quinjet.**

America: **Why are you at the jet?**

Leveller: **We had a…situation. Wanda's shot. Besides, you should thank us. If we hadn't come, we might've gotten stuck here. Obviously, these dimwits wanted to either steal the jet or just blow it to bits.**

America: **We're on our way.**

Meanwhile, Braxton is still fighting and more and more Hydra are pouring out of the vegetation. I pound the top of Braxton's stupid dome with my good hand. I want out. I am not an invalid; I can fight as well as anyone else. My side and shoulder seem to think otherwise, as does my light head, but that means nothing. The next thing I know, the other Avengers are fighting the Hydra river gushing from the jungle. When his problem area is eliminated by War Machine, Braxton waves off his shield and carries me into the jet.

"I can walk." I say.

"Don't lie to me." Braxton chuckles.

"I am not lying." I say, but I cannot look at him.

"There you go again." Braxton says. He sets me down on one of the benches and helps me peel my jacket off, pressing a wad of gauze against my side. "In your side the shot went straight through; it should stop bleeding soon. The shot just took a good chunk of skin with it, but your shoulder still has a bullet in it. When Sam gets back onboard, he can help me. I have medical training, but not enough to remove a bullet."

"Okay." I nod softly, because moving my head moves my shoulder, and I can feel the bullet scraping bone. "Where is Sam?"

"I don't know..." Braxton says distractedly, tapping his coms.

Leveller: **Hey Cap, is Sam back yet?**

America: **No. I'm getting kinda worried. Those buildings did have missiles in them; that means warheads.**

Widow: **Wait, you're fireproof too, right Elrond?**

Leveller: **Real funny, Romanoff. I realize that I look like an elf, and yes, I am fireproof.**

America: **Then you go look for Sam.**

Leveller: **Where's the Vision?**

Machine: **He's in the air. He knows nothing about computer espionage, which I find ironic.**

Leveller: **Then when I see him, I'm sending him back.**

In the distance, outside the quinjet, something explodes so hard it makes the ground shake.

"Shit, that was the building!" Braxton says. "I gotta go find Sam, Wanda. Stay here, if anyone comes in that isn't an Avenger, fry 'em. Don't pass out, whatever you do."

"I will." I say. Braxton turns to go, but I stop him. "Braxton? Please, be safe."

His face splits into a cocky grin and for a second, I think he will laugh off my plea; but at the last moment his smirk softens into a genuine smile, one of the first I've seen on his face.

"I will." He says quietly. "Don't worry."

Leveller: **I'm moving in, Cap.**

America: **Good. The Hydra down here's neutralized; we're coming to you, Wanda.**

Witch: **Very well.**

The minutes pass, the rest of the team comes onto the jet, sitting, waiting for Braxton, on guard for Hydra. After 20 minutes, the Vision joins us. The minutes turn into an hour. At the 90 minute mark, the Captain starts to worry.

"They should be back by now." He says, his leg bouncing with the obvious need to pace. "I'm going to look for them."

Agent Romanoff opens her mouth, maybe to protest, but before she can, someone bangs on the hatch to the Quinjet. Captain Rogers hits the button to open it, everyone inside in a defensive position, just in case. When the door comes down fully, Braxton stumbles in. At a glance there is nothing wrong with him. He is dirty, obviously tired, and his eyes are a bit glazed, but he seems fine. I heave a silent sigh of relief.

Sam, on the other hand, isn't fine. He is slung over Braxton's shoulder, one wing crushed and mangled, nearly torn off, and the other smoking and twitching. Sam himself is unconscious, covered in soot, and blood runs from a deep cut on his face. His arm is bent at an awkward angle, obviously broken, and his thigh is bleeding.

Captain Rogers closes the hatch, then comes forward and Braxton transfers Sam to him. A shudder runs through Braxton's frame as Sam's weight is removed and Braxton's eyes glaze over even more, if possible. He turns to me, and heaves a deep soul-weary sigh. I look up at him, and I see a thin stream of fresh blood trickle out of the corner of his mouth.

"Braxton!" I gasp quietly, shifting. My shoulder is on fire, but blood from the mouth is a sign of internal injury. Or a punch in the face; but not as much blood comes from that as what is flowing from Braxton's mouth. His turns his body stiffly, his crooked smile showing bloody teeth. He coughs raggedly, more blood spilling down his chin. What's wrong with him?!

As of yet, I am the only one who's noticed a problem. The others are too busy extricating Sam from his broken jet pack. I survey the parts of Braxton's body that I can see, and I find it. What I'd thought was just a knob sticking out of his utility pouch is really the hilt of a knife, protruding from his side.

"Hey Wanda," He gasps quietly, barely holding himself up. "How about a date? I know it's kinda sudden, but I was thinking yesterday, and I," He pauses to cough up more blood into his elbow. "Wanna get to know ya better."

"Oh, Braxton! Hold on." I say, and turn to the other side of the jet, pointing to a barely conscious Braxton with my good hand. "Steve!"

"Braxton! What's happening buddy?" Steve asks worriedly, seeing the blood. Braxton just sighs and sinks into Steve's hold, too weary to hold himself up.

"He's been stabbed!" I say frantically, and Romanoff turns around. Rhodes and the Vision stay with Sam, but Rogers lays Braxton on the floor.

"Steve, put pressure on it, I'm taking the knife out." Romanoff commands. Captain Rogers complies and Agent Romanoff pulls out the knife. It seems to go on forever. When it is out, on the floor, I stare at it. It is at least six inches long, a bowie knife design, with a smooth blade; and it is smeared with Braxton's blood from the hilt to the tip of the blade. Steve and Agent Romanoff patch up Braxton and remove the bullet from my shoulder and I soon join Braxton in unconsciousness. Before I pass out though, I look over at Braxton's still form; his only movement being his breathing.

"Of course." I whisper softly, my voice barely there. "A date sounds great."

 **So, I noticed last chapter that I could literally sub any word for drunk. E.g. hammered, papered, plastered, flushed, toasted, etc.**

 **Example: I'm gonna take this bottle of vodka and get totally swept.**

 **It's actually kinda cool.**


	20. What Happened Next

**Okay, so last chap was the actual longest in the story, at over 4k words. So, this one is the shortest except for A/Ns.**

I awake in a cold, sterile, hospital room. The last thing I remember was bringing the Hydra building down onto the head of the stray assailant who stabbed me. I remember going to fetch Sam, then there was fire and Sam on the ground; crunched under a beam. The building was already unsteady. Then….I was stabbed and everything became about getting Sam out no matter what. After that, it's all hazy. I remember the Quinjet, and the relief at seeing it. I remember somebody pulling the knife out of me. Other than that…

Oh, wait. Oh, man. I may or may not have asked Wanda out….

That was probably a mistake. I should have asked her when I was coherent. Now she may never take me seriously. But I have a plan. I'm gonna show her how serious I am. It'll just take a little time.

TO BE CONTINUED...

 **I'm putting this bad boy on hiatus. No, I'm not abandoning it, but I have to focus on personal works and Days in Shadow. If you guys want, I can start Leveller Drabbles. This story will be picked up again, along with Winter Mist in June-ish. I thank you all for your support, and Braxton and Wanda will be back. Go to my profile and vote if you want Leveller Drabbles.**


	21. Prompts Please!

**Okay, so the general consensus is that Leveller Drabbles are a go, so this is a prompts page. Send in what you wanna see! I'll write anything. The Leveller follows canon, so Civil War will be in the sequel!**

 **Bye guys!**


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